FSE

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The room party is fun, but the whole time I'm there, teasing and ogling and being ogled, I have this nagging feeling that I've forgotten something. It's only in the elevator back to my floor that I remember what it was. Shit. Felix is gonna turn me into a cockroach.

For weeks now, he's been talking about getting me and his thrall together at the con. Just today, he's reminded me at least twice that we're meeting in the room at 9:00. My phone now says 10:22 - harsh digital numbers hanging above multiple unread messages from Felix.

Waving my key over the ward of our hotel room door, I let myself in. "Hey, guys," I say sheepishly. Hard for a bear to do, but I manage it.

Felix looks up from a sliding block game on his phone. "Pleasant evening, Roscoe."

"I'm so sorry, man. I got caught up at that room party in 1406 and totally forgot."

The rabbit waves this aside. Although he lets go of his phone to do so, it hovers perfectly in place until he returns his paw to it. "It's only natural for you mortals to make mistakes. After all, you need only live with the consequences of your actions a short few years at most."

"Come on, Felix. I've been dating you long enough to know when you're doing the above-it-all fae thing to cope."

"I am 'above it all'. I can literally fly 'above it all,' Bear Roscoe."

"Still, it's okay to say you're upset."

"What could possibly indicate that I'm upset?"

"For one thing, you've stuck Art to the ceiling."

The thrall dangles from a corner above the TV, an upside-down laptop open on his crossed legs. The otter's small ears twitch at the sound of his name, and he looks down at me with his typical brain-wiped grin. "Hi, Roscoe!"

"Yes, well...I did not 'stick Art to the ceiling' out of anger," Felix assures me. "I tasked Otter Thrall to finish editing my midterm paper before the convention and he failed to do so. Since our original plans did not materialize, I've set him to do so now."

"Sorry again about that, Master. I got so excited about the con that I forgor."

Felix snaps the digits of his paw. "Back to work." Art's face goes slack and his webbed paws start racing across the upside-down keyboard. The rabbit tsks at his thrall. "Do no mortals have respect for the verbal contract?"

I set down my stuff, feeling particularly guilty when I set the neon mesh skirt I'd been wearing on top of the pile. "Okay, glad to hear Art is making it up to you. Is there anything I can do to make up for showing up late?"

Felix's eyes flash - literally: his glamour shimmers, and for a split second I see his three fluorescent yellow orbs staring me down. Yep. I'm definitely getting turned into a cockroach.

He swings his legs off the bed, hops down, and strides toward me. The rabbit is a full head shorter than me, so to make eye contact he has to swivel his ears out of the way before looking up. I've always found that adorable. But right now I feel uneasy with the way those lapine red eyes pop out of his stark white fur.

"A new contract, then?" he asks.

I swallow. "Yeah. New contract."

His muzzle softens into a grin that shows off his buck teeth, gnawed to a perfectly manicured shape. He stands on tiptoe, matching my height thanks to his long footpaws, and plants a kiss at the end of my snout. "You know me too well."

As is typical for a fae, Felix is obsessed with deals, language games, and trickery. It's rare that we can even decide where to go for dinner without me having to solve a riddle or two. He thinks hard for a moment, then smiles. "To fulfill the original purpose of getting to know each other, perhaps we could play a game. All three of us." With a wave of his paw, Art comes unstuck from the ceiling and drifts down to the bed.

"What game did you have in mind?" I ask.

"The kind of game you like."

"Boomer shooter?"

"It might involve you quaking, and it may end in your doom."

I groan. "Well, whatever. I trust you."

He raises his eyebrows. "You grant me open-ended permission to set the rules?"

"No way." I was reckless with my words; it's a wonder he's giving me a chance to rephrase at all. Putting on the best legalese I've picked up from him, I say, "I, Bear Roscoe, consent to one game of Fae Felix's choosing, so long as it does not not involve permanent damage to the mind or body of any participant. Or permanent change," I hastily add.

The otter stretches and blinks away his trance. "Good save. I had to learn that one the hard way."

Felix considers this, then nods. "Art, do you agree to the terms Bear Roscoe has proposed?"

"Yes, Master!"

"Then I declare it done," Felix says. There's no need to shake paws or sign anything; a cold wind carrying the fragrance of moonflowers signals that binding magic has flowed from the fae realm to seal the pact. "Allow me a moment to prepare my things."

With that, he goes to the closet and pulls out a Pelican case, the kind meant to hold expensive cameras. It's covered in stickers, some of which move their eyes around the room with some form of sentience. One in particular draws my notice: an unassuming Bad Dragon sticker, loaded with at least a dozen wards protecting the case from intrusion. That familiar logo contains so much power that it's as terrifying as the maw of a literal dragon.

After speaking several passphrases, the rabbit pops the case open. I look away just in time, and I don't look back until I hear it latch closed again. When I do, Felix is wrapping a dark purple cloth around his right paw like a boxer before a match. The cloth hums with magic like the whir of a gaming PC fan at max load. Once his right paw is fully wrapped, he picks up the other item he's withdrawn: a silver vape pen.

He puts it to his muzzle and draws in a hiss of vapor before letting it out in two streams from his snout. It has a strong undercurrent of cinnamon - unusual for Felix, who usually prefers it unflavored. Underneath is the familiar smell of morning dew - the fae equivalent of food and/or alcohol when they're in the mortal realm. Against the Internet's advice, I tried smoking it once. I couldn't see straight for a week, and it took even longer for the unicorn horn to disappear. Even that wouldn't have been so bad if the horn had least been on my head.

"Ready?" Felix asks.

I shrug. "As ready as I can be."

"Then we begin. Sit down beside Art."

Art is on the room's second bed, a shorter, narrower one made for smaller species. Felix and I haven't used it all con, so I lower myself carefully to gauge whether it'll hold my weight. It groans in protest and I have to curl my legs under me to be able to sit on the edge, but it holds.

Felix leans against the dresser in front of the TV and folds his arms in front of him, tucking the cinnamon vape in the crook of his elbow. "In case you were wondering, the three of us are going to fuck - as if there was any doubt of that." The rabbits nods to Art. "You will get to be under my footpaws."

Art nervously pulls at the webbing of his paws and pushes his legs together. "O-okay. If that's what Master wants."

"And you," the rabbit nods to me, "will get to be between my legs."

I still want to get to know Art properly tonight, since he's Felix's closest thrall - but it seems like that'll happen the way that's typical for me at cons: fuck first, small talk later. My body wouldn't give me any other choice anyway. Between midterms and con prep, it's been over a week since I last bred Felix, and I'm practically vibrating at the thought of getting to do it again tonight. Faeboy pussy should be a Schedule I enchantment.

"So, what's the catch?" I ask.

Felix nods. "A perceptive question, Bear Roscoe. The 'catch' is that only one of you will be allowed to cum."

I growl. Edging and denial have never been my go-to kinks; getting worked up only to end frustrated is the kind of thing that straddles the line between "punishment" and actual punishment.

"So, how do we decide?" Art asks. There's a nervous squeak in the otter's voice, so I guess he feels the same way.

"You don't decide anything. It's to be a contest." Without looking away from us, Felix moves his thumb as if operating an invisible remote control and the TV flicks on. "Whoever can keep their eyes on the screen longer wins."

"Huh?" Art asks.

Felix takes another draw from the pen and when he breathes out the cinnamon-scented vapor catches the blue light of the hotel channel. "Don't worry - it's harder than it sounds." He touches the TV with his right paw - the one wrapped in the enchanted purple cloth. It flicks between several channels, then lands on a cartoon in which bright, colorful dinosaurs argue over who should get to eat a fallen coconut.

The cloth glows, and the image on the screen wavers as its magic interferes with the signal. The cartoon dinosaurs stop what they're doing and look confused for a second. Then they stretch. Their two-dimensional bodies distort farther and farther until they become fields of color that fill the whole screen. The colors start to move with purpose, curling around themselves and spiraling inward.

I growl again, but this time it sounds needy even to my own ears. Hypnosis is one of my go-tos, and Felix knows it. The more I've played around with it, the harder resistance games like this have become. He knows that too.

"Ooh, it's a hypno thing!" Art says with a giddy look on his face. Then, as pinks and blues start to reflect in his brown eyes, his smile freezes and his muzzle slackens. "Wow, the colors are really...really..." As the little otter trails off, part of me thinks I should stand over him menacingly and bully him into letting me win. I bet he'd do it.

"Roscoe?" Felix says. "I will grant only this one warning. Stop looking at the otter and look at the screen."

I brace myself and force myself to face forward like turning a ratchet. The light hits me full in the face like a feral animal pouncing. It really is pretty, so much so that that word is the only thought in my mind for several full seconds.

"May the stronger will prevail," Felix says with a grin. The glamour of his preferred form slips again, and in the corner of my eye I glimpse the sharp teeth that zig-zag crocodile-like from his muzzle.

I'm grateful for his taunt, despite myself. I was already slipping into the lure of swirling and swirling colors. They're impossibly vivid, and their simple repeating pattern hooks into my brain like a favorite song I can't tune out. I compare it to getting into a flow with a solid shooter game, with every circuits of my brain engaging to meet the challenge. The longer I play, the more the patterns of enemies and projectiles become regular and predictable, just like the spiral on the screen...

Art raises the back of his paw to wipe his muzzle. Felix sees it too and says, "You're going to drool. Get used to it."

"Okay, Master..." Art says, and lets his paw fall to his thigh with an audible slap. He's pretty far gone, I realize with satisfaction. And why wouldn't he be with those captivating colors on the screen, swimming closer and closer the longer they play?

My satisfaction vanishes when I feel a trail of saliva on my own chin. I start to close my muzzle, but I remember Felix's words - "You're going to drool. Get used to it." I know he's right. I should put my energy into resisting instead.

I have to push back against the trance that wants to pull me down. I can't surrender to the heavy weight that wants me to just slump over into easy, blissful dreams. Just keep thinking about breeding Felix. How good you're going to feel after putting a load in him - how relaxed, heavy and sleepy... I shake my head clear. No - think about the look on his face when he sees that you've won.

The spirals shift their colors away from the cartoonish pinks and blues and into earth tones - clay, gold, and a burned red that I can practically smell waves of cinnamon wafting from. There are whole worlds in those never-ending curves. I get totally immersed in one just as the next one appears. It's so hard to keep track. It would be so much easier to close my eyes and let my brain rest. Even just to close them halfway. Having been dropped by Felix before, I know it would feel so good to let it happen.

As my eyes flutter shut, Felix brings that silver vape pen to his muzzle and takes an extra long draw. This time when he exhales, he blows a huge cloud of vapor in our direction. It moves like syrup, against all laws of physics, and comes to rest in a thick mist around Art and I's heads. The smell of cinnamon rushes up my snout and shifts all the hues in the room to the warmer end of the spectrum. I'm sure that if I could see myself in a mirror, my eyes would be totally orange and red.

Thankfully, the vapor breaks up the pattern of the spirals on the screen. I have to struggle to remember why I want to fight this bliss to begin with, but after a moment I manage to use the break to shake my head and claw my way back to consciousness. However, the relief doesn't last long.

"Ooh," Art says.

I see it at the same time. Every drop of moisture in the air reflects the intense spirals, refracting them into kaleidoscopic galaxies. The smell of cinnamon rolls and pumpkin pie overwhelms me and the room disappears. I float in a world of infinitely faceted gems, each more soothing and fascinating than the last. I know I can't fight for much longer. I just want to let them envelop me and pull me down deeper and deeper. Deeper and deeper.

The light cuts out. "It is decided," a voice says.

I blink, forcing my eyes to adjust. The spirals are gone from the screen, and the vape cloud disperses rapidly. On the TV, the cartoon dinosaurs look around in confusion, saying their lines haltingly as they struggle to remember the storyline they were acting out before.

Art wipes his muzzle again, his eyes still half-closed. "Um, who won, Master?"

I realize I don't know either. Did I actually slump over and close my eyes, or did I just badly want to? The trance is getting hard to remember, other than the bliss and the all-consuming smell of cinnamon. I couldn't even say how much time has passed. Suddenly, I realize that my paw has been on the bulging crotch of my pants for a while now and quickly pull it away.

"I could tell you both enjoyed yourselves. Doesn't that make you both winners?" Felix asks with a grin.

"No," I answer. "Seriously, which of us won? Which of us can get off?"

He shrugs. "There's an easy way to find out. If you can cum, that must mean you won."

I've never seen the rabbit this pleased with himself before. "That's not fair," I protest.

"Shall we review the rules?" He partially unwinds the cloth from his paw, where text in elaborately decorated calligraphy has appeared in white ink.

Fae Felix shall conceive of a game having of its qualities:

Proscription from permanent alteration to:

The mind of Bear Roscoe; The mind of Otter Arthur

The body of Bear Roscoe; The body of Otter Arthur

And possessing the following rules:

Conditional to a players' earliest surrender to entrancement, that player:

Shall not reach sexual climax until morning.

This game shall be played once to completion.

"Nowhere is it said that I must disclose the winner," Felix says.

Art's rudder tail twitches. "If that's what you want, Master."

"Come on," I say. I was already worked up from the room party, and now - after getting dropped into that mind-melting trance - I really need it.

"'Come on' is not a recognized term in fae legal code." He grins and his crocodile teeth flicker in and out again. "I plan to make you both ravenous before I let either of you get off. If I do."

My muzzle falls open. "What do you mean if?"

"The rules don't say the winner shall climax, only that the loser shall not." He watches my face for a moment, which I'm sure is as pathetic as its ever looked. My ears pin back in hot embarrassment. "Since you look so needy, I will allow the winner their satisfaction. You're lucky I'm so generous."

"Yes, Master, thank you Master," Art squeaks.

"That's a good thrall. Roscoe could learn some things from you - and maybe he will." Felix takes another pull from the pen and lets it out. That mulled wine smell is getting etched deep in the air of the hotel room. Every time I get a fresh whiff of it I snap back to the memory of that hypnotic, psychedelic cloud and my paw drifts back to my increasingly sensitive cock.

I realize Felix asked me something that I didn't catch. "What's up?"

"I said, where would you like to start?"

I turn my attention to the otter, an idea forming in my mind. If I need to figure out who gets to cum, I'll just have to get him close as quick as possible. Whether he can or can't get off, that'll give me the information I need.

I've always thought Art was cute when I've run into him before - usually carrying Felix's stuff, doing Felix's homework, or giving out paw rubs in class. He also seems chill and he's probably cool when he's allowed to have more than half his brain. But none of that matters at the present moment.

"I say we start by working your otter thrall over. He's waited long enough," I say.

Art nods eagerly and his big tail flips back and forth. He's such a puppy. I should really get him in a hood and a leash sometime.

"You heard him, thrall. Get under those big bear paws," Felix says. With a snap of his digits, he points at the floor between the beds. Art slides in as easily as getting into water and lays on his back.

Paw guys are fun. I never think of my footpaws as hot, but they always tell me how nice they look and taste and smell. They're always so grateful and/or embarrassed about it. It's cute. Plus, since I'm not into them, keeping Art down there should give me some time for the raging lust in my cock to subside. It better. If I don't do something about it, I'm on track to agree to anything Felix wants.

When I step on the otter, my footpaw is big enough to cover Art's whole chest as it sinks into his soft, dense otter fur. He scoots down enough for my toes to wrap around his muzzle and he shoves his snout between them right away.

"Look at him go," Felix says. "So eager. Say, 'Thank you for making me your pawrest, Mister Bear."

Art starts to say, "Thank you for-" when Felix suddenly exhales a long, thin stream of cinnamon vapor that hits him right in the snout. The otter's eyes flutter and his tongue flops out, damp and warm against my pawpad. I didn't even see Felix inhale from the vape first this time.

I turn to him. "Why do you keep taking that stuff? You must have had enough dew to eat by now. Are you just trying to get drunk?"

"Conventions are all about excess, aren't they?"

"I guess? But-"

The rabbit sits on the bed next to me, seizing my attention. He puts one digit of his wrapped paw - carefully - under my chin and turns my muzzle toward him. Face-to-face with those powerful red eyes of his - which, up close, have a visible glow - I shudder.

"Shh," he says. "I'm not going to hurt you. Not permanently, remember?" Before I can answer, he pushes his short muzzle against mine, our whiskers brushing against each other. His mouth tastes like cinnamon, like the warm balm of a spiced tea for a sore throat. Somehow, I haven't gotten enough of it - with every taste or smell I find myself wanting more.

The kiss feels like it takes place outside the context of the kink scene. It's a "I'm ready to put this behind us" from him and a "I value you and won't take you for granted again" from me.

Then it snaps back to base horniness, the two of us making out intensely as Art huffs my paws. The rabbit's kissing stays gentle even as he works his tongue deeper down my muzzle. It's hot feeling it rub against mine, but then it keeps going, growing longer and longer until it prods its way down my throat. I start to gag, but he holds my muzzle in place with his wrapped-up paw, and I have to remain still to avoid a nasty shock from the enchanted cloth.

Finally, he withdraws his tongue and I see its true forked, prehensile shape for a second before it flashes back to normal. I gasp for breath and swallow a mawful of saliva that tastes like cinnamon.

Keeping his eyes on me, he dangles his footpaws just enough to grip the head of Art's leaking cock, pulling a brand new series of sounds from the otter. "How is Otter Thrall?" he asks.

"Thrall is doing amazing, Master" Art mumbles.

"Describe it."

"Um." He pauses for a moment, either to collect his thoughts or out of embarrassment, I can't tell. "Roscoe, it's really hot how big your paws are and how big bear pads are because, um, that's the best part to put my tongue against."

"And mine?" Felix asks.

Art groans and pushes his cock between the rabbit's footpaws. "Soft. Really, really soft, Master."

Felix shifts position to run one footpaw down the length of Art's cock, making the otter moan and flop back onto the floor.

Suddenly, the rabbit grabs my muzzle with his wrapped paw and pulls me in close. Where the cloth makes contact, magic soaks into my blood and my head spins like a Gravitron. "Doesn't that paw worship feel good?" he asks me.

Art's muzzle on my paws had faded into the background, but at Felix's words I pay more attention to it. It does feel nice, his warm tongue almost like a massage.

"I, uh, think Art is getting more out of it than I am."

"Is he?"

"Um." With magic filling my thoughts with static, I'm not sure.

"Can't you just imagine how good each stroke of his tongue feels for him?"

Art moans as if to agree.

Felix leans in and whispers in my ear - close enough that his breath tickles. I swear I even feel his forked tongue flick the sensitive hairs. "His pleasure is your pleasure."

The spell takes hold right away, Art's paw worship growing in significance to dominate my mind. Each time his tongue washes over my pads, my cock throbs with electric pleasure.

I need more of it.

I force myself to pull my paw away long enough to stand up from the bed. I tower over the otter, who looks up at me with wide eyes. With a growl, I bring my footpaw down to smother his face, and he resumes his worship eagerly. It feels unbelievable - it's no wonder he's obsessed with this.

Still on the bed, Felix strips out of his pants and the smell of his wet pussy hits my nose right away - his familiar male musk, but somehow tinged with hot notes of cinnamon. He puts his paw between his legs and slowly teases at his lips as he watches us.

"See, isn't it good to focus on the pleasure of others?" Felix asks with a grin.

Art's tongue pulls away as he prepares to respond, but I push down harder with my paw. "Don't stop until I tell you, pawslut."

He nods and gets back to it. Standing over him, I stroke my cock harder and faster. I imagine cumming right here and now, making him lick it all off my footpaw, and how good that would feel. I at least get the satisfaction of seeing him lick up the drops of precum that I dribble onto him.

We go like this for awhile. As far as I can tell neither me nor Art get close to cumming, so I still have no way of knowing who won the contest - that is, whether I'll be able to get off tonight. The pressure in my balls is hard to stand; at this rate, if I'm not allowed to cum, I'll be up all night waiting to get off the second the sun rises.

Felix gasps, a surprisingly needy sound of pleasure from the fae, and I turn to see that he's worked two fingers into his pussy, popping them in and out with a shudder.

I grin. "Does the rabbit need something?"

He glowers. "A fae doesn't need anything from mortals."

"Uh-huh."

"But it is time to put more work in on Bear Roscoe. Come." He snaps and points to the spot in front of him on the bed. The smell of cinnamon singes my nostrils and shades my vision in warm orange. Before I know what I'm doing, I'm crawling to the bed and kneeling between the rabbit's legs.

"That smell-" I say, shaking my head free of it.

Art flops down beside me. "It's so good."

"It is, isn't it?" Felix strokes the otter's head. Then the rabbit leans over and exhales a steady stream directly into one of the otter's small ears. His muscles go slack and he flops over Felix's thigh like a noodle - moreso than usual for an otter, that is.

Art's eyes pulse in waves of scarlet, and when he drools on Felix's leg the saliva sparkles with red glitter. Felix doesn't stop exhaling until his lungs are completely empty, even as the otter moans and grinds against the rabbit's leg.

"What is that cinnamon stuff doing?" I finally ask. The smell is so omnipresent that I want to cover my nose - but not because I find it irritating. The opposite, in fact; I have to fight to stay as far away from Felix as I currently am.

"Nothing permanent," Felix assures me.

My ears flatten back against my head. "And what does 'permanent' mean?"

"Now that you mention it, that particular word was not defined in the contract, was it?" The rabbit pretends to consider it. "Perhaps I'll keep you spice-addicted until, let's say, next year's con."

"You wouldn't actually do that," I say, sounding as though I'm trying to convince myself.

"And why not?"

I realize I may have gotten in over my head as I fail to come up with an answer.

Art manages to speak through his haze, though it comes out entirely in vowels.

"You want more?" Felix asks. "Here - you'll enjoy this." He pulls his knees up to his chest, puts his long, fluffy footpaws together right under my muzzle, and draws a deep breath from his pen. Then he exhales another thick, slow-moving cloud.

My head feels light, but the smell is so enticing that every breath I take erases more of my anxiety. The otter is obviously enjoying himself; surely I could take just one year of the brainless daze he's in, couldn't I?

The spice soaks into Felix's white footpaws and dyes them a deep orange. Every fiber of thick, soft fur there is radioactive with spice and magical warmth.

He snaps his fingers in front of Art's face, then spreads his legs. "Get back to work, thrall," he says, pointing to one of his lifted footpaws.

Art squeaks and slides in close. Felix shoves his psychoactive-loaded paw into the otter's sensitive snout and he collapses in bliss. His eyes close, but their scarlet glow is so bright that I can still see it through his lids.

Art would probably agree to decades of enthrallment to Felix at this point. But I have a thesis to finish; I don't want to have to restart this school year and get a reputation as a fae plaything - even as hot as that's starting to sound right now.

"Felix-" I start to say.

"Yes, Bear Roscoe?"

The rabbit's legs are spread, and I'm paralyzed by the sight. I've never wanted to do anything more than I now want to pin him down with my full weight and pound into him like a feral creature. But before I do that, I need to clarify what's going to happen if I keep getting exposed to whatever alchemy he's filled the air with.

Instead, I find myself asking something else. "Please just tell me - are you going to let me cum?"

"It's not about let. The rules are what they are. You either won the contest of wills, or you lost it."

"Okay, but did I win or lose?"

"You're having a lot of thoughts for a big breeder bear." He reaches between his legs and runs a long, teasing stroke up my cock, pausing to squeeze gently at the swollen head.

I could still get out of this. There's nothing in the rules that says I can't go to the bathroom, turn the fan on, and at least get some oxygen into my brain.

Instead, I push my knees under Felix's thighs, hook my elbows under his knees, and force the rabbit into a mating press. Art is startled out of his trance for a moment but his snout finds its way back to Felix's paw and he resumes his urgent stroking.

I slip into Felix's hot and waiting pussy as though guided there by magic. As his tight, warm folds caress my sensitive length, I try to let out a growl of pleasure that instead turns into a needy whimper.

"That poor cock had to wait so long for a hole," Felix teases. "How could you stand it?" He hooks one arm around my neck for leverage, arches his back and wiggles his hips to force me in deeper. Inch by inch of agonizing pleasure wracks my brain until I bottom out inside him.

"Fuck."

"Even that thought is still too complex," Felix says. His snout looms close enough that his breath brushes my whiskers.

I know it's coming. But with his legs clamped around me, his arm pulling me in close, his red eyes filling my vision, and that pleasure holding a vice grip on my brain, there's nothing I can do. He presses his muzzle against mine, pries it open with his flexible tongue, and exhales.

I see stars. Everything becomes red and gold spirals. There are no thoughts anymore, only overwhelming need and blinding pleasure filling my body. I saw in and out of Felix hard enough to slam the bed into the wall with every thrust.

"That's it, bear. Pump and breed."

I can't imagine doing anything else.

Content with his work, Felix lays his head back on the pillow and closes his eyes as I stretch his pussy and Art worships his footpaw. The rabbit runs his paw down his lithe body to his clit and rubs himself in small, quick circles, showing his cute buck teeth with each moan.

I speed up my thrusts, and as if to slow me down he pushes his free footpaw into my face. Huffing the cinnamon still saturating the fur there, the stars grow brighter. "I like my toys to have many ways of being controlled," he says. "I think I'll make you just as addicted to my paws as the otter. Take a deep breath." His words go directly to my body, bypassing my brain entirely, and I huff so deep that I get dizzy. Sparks of red and orange pop like fireworks, and I envision it as the circuitry of my brain being rewired to need this.

"A big bear like you would make a beautiful paw decoration," Felix teases. "I'd wrap a gold chain around your neck, tie it to an anklet, and keep you where you belong. It would be a small, dainty chain; everyone would know you could easily break it - but you wouldn't want to, would you?"

I shake my head in automatic agreement, which brushes my snout through the fur of his paw. It's so soft, and I'm suddenly struck by its length and the tight muscles behind his powerful hops. Felix notices me staring and pulls the paw back to give me a better view, curling his toes and flexing for me.

"You would keep staring, just like you are now. I would snap my fingers and you would rub them for me for as long as I wanted, no matter where we were or who was watching. Eventually, I'd have you conditioned to cum your brains out just from touching them, right in front of everyone."

I want to protest, but then he pushes the overpowering scent back into my snout and stomps away any possibility of thought. I can't even visualize the consequences of this scenario, only the image of being chained close to his beautiful paws at all times. Imitating the way Art treated my paws, I push my tongue out and flick it between Felix's toes. This feels more correct than anything I've ever done. I keep it up as, all the while, Felix's tight pussy tugs and tugs on my aching cock.

"That's it, bear, that's it, just like that-" Without warning, he convulses from tight ab muscles to thighs; his toes curls against my muzzle and his powerful bunny legs shake as he cums. His glamour slips and his face and body flicker through a Spirit Halloween's worth of alien shapes. The fae loses his practiced articulation of the mortal tongue, moaning in dozens of voices.

With each quiver, his pussy clamps down on me in tight, rapid flutters. There's nothing that pushes me to the edge faster than feeling someone cum around my cock, and without warning all that pent-up pressure is about to burst the seams.

Felix's eyes flutter open, fading from reptilian yellow to his preferred lapine red as he regains control of his glamour. Then he grins. "Oh, is the bear close?"

I don't even nod; I just snap my teeth together and my moans become a feral roar.

"Then cum - if you can."

There's no other possibility. Instinct has taken total control, and every nerve ending screams for me to fill the rabbit boy with bear cubs. I'm at the inevitable point of release, so close that there's no doubt that I won the contest of wills, that I'll be allowed to cum and Art won't-

Suddenly, the otter squeaks out a cry of pleasure. I turn, dumbstruck, as his hips buck, his rudder tail lashes wildly, and, finally, he blasts a thick jet of seed far enough to splatter Felix on the cheek.

"Good thrall," Felix says. He unfurls his long tongue and licks up the ropes of cum from his face and under his chin.

I put it out of my mind. I'm right on the verge of finally exploding inside Felix's tight pussy, and there's nothing that can stop me, no matter what the rules of the game say. Every muscle in my body is tight, and there's only one way they'll relax again.

Suddenly, an unseen force shoves me backward. I slip out of Felix with a pop, and the lack of stimulation slaps me like a plunge into ice water. I force my hips forward again, but it's like trying to push through concrete. In desperation, I try to at least use my paw to finish myself, but it's like there's an invisible wall around my cock.

"Rules are rules," Felix says with a grin.

Even without further stimulation, it's too late to stop it. Thick, white seed slips out without the pleasure of a real orgasm. Felix laughs as each contraction makes my cock bob ridiculously in the air, sending rope after rope to fall wasted on the bed. Each pulse should be a reward for all of the energy and need I've built up. Instead, they're uncomfortable, involuntary convulsions; instead of ending in relief, they only slow to a stop.

"Felix, please," I say pathetically.

"Sorry, bear. I couldn't change the rules even if I wanted to. You'll just have to wait until morning."

I turn to Art. "How did you beat me?"

He shrugs. "I don't know. I just thought about stuff other than spirals." The otter still pants with relief from his real orgasm, each breath killing me with jealousy.

"That's settled, then," Felix says. "Otter Thrall, would you like to make Roscoe watch you breed me?"

The otter's eyes glow even brighter orange and he nods eagerly.

Watching Art cum his brains out inside Felix over and over, I'm pissed at first. But the frustration gradually gives way to appreciating just how hot they are together. I soon have to go back in for more bunny paw worship, and eventually even get my face under Art's webbed footpaws.

It's 3:00 a.m. by the time the smell of cinnamon dissipates and things start to wind down. Felix rests his head on Art's chest, the otter's cum still trickling out of his drenched pussy. I'm at the foot of the bed with my snout between their four footpaws.

"Sorry again," I say suddenly.

"For what?" Felix asks.

"For forgetting about our meet up? Losing time at the room party?"

He waves this away. "On-demand paw rubs from now on is a more than fair exchange."

My cock jumps with a dull ache of unsatisfied need. "Fuck. I think I might actually be addicted to paws now."

"I thought the game wasn't supposed to do anything permanent?" Art asks.

"It wasn't. If this is permanent, it just means the bear was always a pawslut," Felix says with a grin.

I protest with a growl, but it's weak.

"Either way, this was fun," Art says. "It was nice to finally hang out, Roscoe. Master talks about you a lot."

"Oh? What does he say?"

"Stuff like, 'Roscoe always thinks with his cock. I pretend to hate it, but it's actually really cute.'"

"Really? How interesting."

"Art," Felix says in warning.

"'Roscoe has taught me so much about the mortal realm. He's the best-'"

Felix snakes his tongue down the otter's throat to shut him up and I watch the kissing turn to yet another round between my partner and his thrall. When the sun finally comes up, my belly feels full of warm, sweet spice.