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The room stank like men.

Lawrence sat in this stench, with various males slumped around him in the room, most of them sleeping where they lay. The lanky donkey didn't blame them, because he was tired, too. After what he'd been through, it was either fatigue or just genuine tiredness from being up too long. Lawrence had stumbled into this seat, fully expecting to lose consciousness. He'd been drained. But instead, he sat there as he watched the others slowly tire themselves out, spilling seed into the willing and voracious receptacle. Maybe if both his mind and body wasn't so… exhausted by the experience, he would have minded more. As it was, he was trying to decide whether or not he truly minded it, with his own contributor to the stink slumped on his leg, his own seed slowly drying, along with other… fluids. Fluids that definitely did not come from his future wife, and most certainly not within the bounds of any marriage.

Briefly, Lawrence thought he disliked the smell, because it was distracting him from the fresh memories of what had to be the most exciting night in his life. So far.

How had he gotten here, in this room, again? At one point in his life, he would have said solemnly and seriously that the Lord worked in mysterious ways, but… the skinny donkey was certain that the Lord was not looking down on this endeavor. But then, had the Lord looked on with approval at him? When he'd been beaten by his father for not being enough, not being the jack he thought he should be. Life on this earth was fleeting, but life on this earth also hurt. There were many reasons to go to college away from home, and being away from his father was chief among them, though he'd never say it.

And now, he was here. And here was the result of a Bible study that went into an interesting direction, of meeting Trent, and finding a lot about himself and his body and, in a way, the world. And that he was thirsty. That was finally able to stir him to movement from the miasma of masculinity, something he had to take a big whiff of as he peeled himself from the couch to his unsteady feet, holding himself up on the wall as he tried to remember where the kitchen was. Soon, the donkey was leaning over the sink, shutting off the water, and raising the filled glass to parched lips while cool water rushed down his throat and into his body like a balm.

At this point, Lawrence remembered he was naked. He'd been naked for some time, but beyond an atypical breeziness, it had felt fine to be naked. Almost normal. It hadn't mattered what his body looked like, since most of the rest of them were distracted with something else. So disrobing didn't carry the shame it used to, which was another revelation. Maybe… maybe being a part of Trent's group was good. He'd explored things his upbringing had told him was sinful outside the bounds of matrimony, and more so when done with other males. The lanky donkey remembered, vividly, his own hands caressing another's chest, back, butt, and having his own features touched by non-judgmental hands. He remembered kissing. Those who asked with a look or a smile, pulling him closer until lips met, tongues caressing each other. His face and ears flushed, and while he knew part of it was shame, it was a dim echo of what had been. Instead, there was something else to describe standing, nude as the day he came into this world, finishing off a glass of water. Whatever that word was kept dancing out of his reach, and he wondered if he was too tired to be ashamed of his nudity. He'd just finished having a lot of sex.

He was surprised anew about how much energy sex took. Especially when he'd done it… how many times now? A small laugh escaped him then. The glass went down and was filled half as much this time. As the skinny jack drank this time, slower, he dove into the memories of what he'd done, who he'd done it with, how much his body ached from the things he'd put himself through. There was a time when he would have been embarrassed to admit to even himself half the things he'd done this night alone had even entered his thoughts. And now… could he be the upstanding Christian boy his father demanded and his mother hoped he'd be? If he did take a jenny to wife, and brought her home to his parents, the only thing he saw fit to do on the bed of his youth would be to lift his own legs while she… what was the word? Peg? Yes, that; peg him in the room he grew up in. It was an idle fantasy that blasphemed so strongly against his upbringing. Maybe that was why he felt himself stirring once again, dimly surprised at the apparent resilience he'd somehow developed. And then to the person—the entity—that had caused so much of that draining of energy.

For a third time, Lawrence filled the glass he had. This time, he picked his way carefully to the prone body at the center of this sexual explosion, and found her sitting upright, legs spread. Her head was down, but between the muscled majesty of her arms, those heavy breasts, or the fact that she was touching her pussy lips, the lanky donkey was struck by the eroticism inherent in her very being. And those… well used petals. Something he could personally attest to, vivid memories of his own shaft pushing through that heated opening, those strong legs bringing him in while he availed himself of her. And he'd done it… multiple times, as had the rest of this crowd.

He was forgetting himself. He was forgetting his manners. Swallowing a sudden build up of saliva, he called out to her. "Demon?"

The bovine demon's attention snapped toward Lawrence. It was almost unbearable, to be under her regard, even though he knew, intellectually, that this demon had been friendly to him in the recent past. Swallowing now his fear, he ventured forward, offering the glass. "I thought… you might be thirsty, after all that."

All that. An understatement of the century. Yet, the demon didn't comment, accepted the glass, treated Lawrence to the simple motions of a body drinking. Just that, drinking, and he found himself thinking of other things that throat had consumed, willingly and eagerly. A few gulps later, the glass was empty. She sighed, then chuckled softly. It was a private chuckle, and Lawrence suddenly wished he could be a part of whatever joke the demon had.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, cutting himself off from speaking more.

"No," the cow said, offering the glass back. Lawrence took it, trying to keep his hands from touching the demon's overmuch. She might be overstimulated. "Thank you," she said, with what approximated a smile from her. A slight movement of lips, curves at the edge of her muzzle, something so subtle as to convey gratitude. Smiling back more expressively, Lawrence nodded, mumbled a "you're welcome" and escaped with the glass, sitting it next to the sink in the kitchen he'd found the glass in.

So. Would he? He wanted to. But he also considered how she looked. An easy expression ofher infernal power was wiping away the sweat, fatigue, stray fluids of sex. The fact that she (was it she? He abruptly remembered that the demon used strange pronouns. Them, right?) had not already done so might indicate fatigue on the demon's part. Still. The group had taught him to assert himself, and he thought… he should at least ask the demon if they wanted to do something else. Especially now that everyone else was… indisposed.

Perhaps the demon was hungry as well as thirsty.

Perhaps he should stop making excuses.

Turning, he walked back to the demon. It was only when a sudden movement trapped him against the couch he was walking past did he notice that the demon was considerably cleaner than s—they were mere moments ago. "Got one more in you, Lawrence?"

How did she KNOW? How? "I, uh," the slender donkey began, but found a damp finger pushing up against his lips, silencing him.

The finger was still damp with fluids. Whatever those fluids were, and he could make a guess at it, they smelled incredible. Dimly, he could rationalize his reaction to the pheromones that sh—they were no doubt exuding as a demon of lust. But what centers of rationalization he had were far away, and all he could concentrate on was the scent, the finger, the texture of her fur and the dampness on it. They had his attention.

"I know you do, Lawrence. My question is, truly, do you want to spend that one with me?"

He found himself nodding before he could hesitate, before he could take it back. Lawrence gripped the couch arm as her muzzle lowered onto him, conscious that he'd gotten hard again, so hard that it hurt. And when those infernal lips touched his shaft, he had to bite his fist to keep from waking the rest of them.

The room still stank like men. Lawrence was pretty sure he liked it now.