FSE

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It was a beautiful night at La Push. It was getting toward the end of summer, and the tourism had finally dropped off after that whole "Twilight" rage. This meant the beach, picturesque as it was, was left fairly barren in the off-season, and free for locals to do with as they pleased. That night, under a low, bright moon, a bonfire raged. It was no Burning Man, for sure, but the driftwood had been plentiful this year, so the flames lept and cracked, sending their tongues ten, fifteen feet into the sky. All around, there were dancing bodies, some in tanks and board shorts, some in jeans and light hoodies, and some were even bare, save for the stripes of paint on their scales or fur.

The bonfire had been going strong since sunset. Coolers that arrived over flowing had begun to dwindle, and the scent of marijuana and searing meat had started to take over the lingering scent of beer. The party was winding down, and some of the out-of-towners were packing up, but the locals, both surfers and non, didn't have the same idea. Some of them had brought their stash, some had brought boards, and others had brought nets and fishing poles, hence the mouth-watering aroma of cooking fish.

Despite the ongoing festivities, a diminutive corgi had settled a little ways away from the main fire, opting instead to build his own, drink his own beer, and smoke his own weed. It wasn't like he didn't want to share. Far from it. Hell, he'd probably passed out a solid case-and-a-half of his personal stock, not to mention passed his pipe around any number of circles. He had just reached the point of inebriation where he was content watching the moon turn the surf silver, and listening to it roll in. People still filtered over. Some sober, some not, some looking for a place to hook up, and some just exploring the beach. He offered his pipe when company joined. Most partook and chatted for a few minutes, only to wander off when they'd had their fill. At this point, no one was asking for beer.

Stretched out on the sand, reclining on his elbows, the corgi yawned broadly, his tongue curling, the stud in its middle flashing in the moonlight, before his muzzle settled into a lazy little smile. Large, stretched ears were splayed, a show of his ease and contentment. Honestly, if he'd been listening for anything but the waters rolling over the sand, the gentle voice behind him wouldn't have made his jump nearly as much as he did.

"You got a light?"

Without sitting up, the canine tipped his head backwards to peer at the question's asker. Revealed to him was a lioness, a very nice looking one, with what looked like a hand-rolled cigarette hanging from her muzzle. He'd seen her around before, but only just. She was always popping up as he was heading out, or vice-versa. That in and of itself wasn't uncommon. What made her stand out were, first and foremost, the massive fangs that framed her chin. Not a common sight. Secondly, her ears; they were the size of a soda can. Well, the top of one, at least. Tonight it looked like she was wearing tunnels, secured in their place by small rings.

The dog rather liked her look, especially tonight, in the glow of his little fire, with her torso covered in a sweater with the neck cut wide enough to hang off of her shoulders, exposing the sport's bra below. Her bottom half was clad similarly to his, in a baggy pair of cargo shorts. It seemed the two were of the same mind when they were dressing, that evening, seeing as he'd chosen an old drug rug(or Baja hoodie, for those not in the know).

"I don't have a light, no, but I have a flame."

It was a stupid comment, made more stupid by the grin that parted his lips, and undoubtedly made even further stupid by the fact that he was upside down. Honestly, the corgi's only saving grace was probably the fact that, through some awkward show of flexibility, he offered a lighter back to her while generally maintaining his mostly-prone position.

She took it gladly before taking a seat next to the decidedly non-sober corgi, lit her spliff, and took a long drag. She held it for a moment, assuming a similar position to his own, before blowing twin plumes through her nostrils. She sighed contentedly after her next breath, and offered the joint to him. He'd righted himself when she settled next to him. He took the smoldering roll without a word and hit it. To the lioness' credit, she had good tastes. What strain it was, he wasn't sure. It had hints of Death Star and Thin Mints, and it made for a wholly enjoyable toke. He was already high, having spent most of the party with his home-grown AK-47 and sipping on his PBR, one of which he offered her.

Taking it from him, the big cat popped the top of her gifted beer and drank, taking the joint back when it was offered. They repeated this, time and time again, passing the weed back and forth, until there was nothing but the smallest of roaches to prove they'd smoked anything at all. Basking in their high, they peered at the starry sky and the moon-silvered waves as they lapped at the shore. That was what made the lioness' next move kind of shocking. Well, that and the fact that neither of them had bothered to exchange names.

With a little huff, she rolled on top of him and crushed her massively fanged muzzle to his narrower one in a warm kiss, looping her arms around his neck and planting her shapely rump in his lap. Her thumbs stroked over the fluff of his cheeks as her fingers wrapped behind, their tips kneading the roots of his ears as her broad, rough tongue flicked over his lips, which after a moment of shocked hesitation, he opened, meeting that sandpapery appendage with his long, slick, pierced one.

They sat like that for a while, kissing, only breaking away for a soft gasp or intake of breath when one of his paws reached back to squeeze her plush rear. Before long, the girl's hips were moving, rocking firmly against the corgi, grinding her ass against the slowly swelling bulge in his crotch. The dog responded as any man would, by rolling his hips up to meet those supple cheeks, one of which his paw was still kneading.

He took his opportunity when it came, pushing her backwards some when she pulled away to offer a delicate moan on a particularly rough squeeze to her rump. With the new distance between them, he was able to sit up fully, keeping one hand on her rear while the other pressed to her svelte belly, rubbing it warmly before he slipped the appendage under her sweater and pressed his muzzle back to hers.

Again, they were back to making out, grinding and rolling against one another, her chest tight to his, though his caramel furred paw was on a quest, exploring territories further north, until rough pads stumbled upon synthetically smooth fabric: her sports bra. He squeezed a compressed mound warmly, and she broke away for a moan, and he just grinned.

Another opportunity presented itself to the canine, and he pounced on it, near literally. He shoved her backwards into the sand, forcing his hips between her thighs as their muzzles met once again. Both paws worked under her shirt, now, one raking its claws down along her side while the other continued groping her unseen breast. Her hips bucked against his, and he ground his swollen sheath against the pert cheeks of her ass. It wasn't until his roaming paw slipped into her shorts did things change.

"...What the fuck...?"

"What?"

The corgi squeezed, and the lioness squirmed and moaned.

"That."

"Oh. Well. That's my dick."

Another squeeze, a different one.

Another moan.

"And that's your tit. What the fuck?"

The corgi was hovering above the quote-unquote 'lioness'' now, his mismatched eyes boring into hers. He wasn't sober enough to be angry. Shit, it wasn't like he hadn't been with a dude before. But a dude with tits? That was some straight-off-the-internet shit, for him.

"I'm trans? You know, that thing where my outside doesn't match my brain?" Her tone wasn't one of being offended. Or resigned. Or even matter-of-fact. Honestly, it sounded to the dog that she was talking down to him. Not that he was one to interpret tone all that well, at that given moment.

"So, you used to be a dude?"

"Nah, dude. I've always been a chick, I just used to have a mane and shit."

"So... Have you ever, y'know? Used it?"

"Bro. What the fuck? Does it matter?"

That kind of left the dog dumbfounded, and the lioness took her shot at flipping the him onto his back, and pinned him down with her paws splayed over his belly. The dog couldn't quite muster anything more than a lack-luster squirm. That last joint had really started to hit.

"Tell you what: Let me show you what a girl who's gotten a beej can do."

It would haver been a simple matter of undoing the corgi's shorts, if she'd wanted it to be. Easy as pie. She could have reached down, unbuttoned and unzipped his fly, and gone to work. Hell, even after finding a dick he had not at all been hoping for, he was hard and leaking. If the cargos were khaki, they'd have shown the wet spot. As it was, the dark fabric just kind of shimmered where his pre had leaked through. Instead of going the easy route, though, she, yeah, 'she', he'd decided, chose to pull his button open with her teeth, which was a massive feat of dexterity, in and of itself, considering those fangs of hers, before doing the same with his zipper and nosing it open.

Pressing her muzzle into the flap, she nuzzled at his erection, tucking her nose under it and prying it out of his open fly. And then it was there, in the moonlight, glistening wetly and half-knotted, being rubbed along the cheek of a very attractive girl. Dear Penthouse, right?

Pretty much.

From that point on, the girl was all business. She downed in on one practiced movement. No hesitation, no jerk of a gag, no wince or grunt, no. She went straight from lips, to tongue, to throat, like a fucking pro. She gulped at him, letting her gullet milk and massage his heated flesh. The corgi wasn't cocky(if you'll pardon the pun), being just a hair over seven inches, which put him above average for most guys(except for great danes, or anything with hooves), but for someone clocking in at barely five-foot-one, he looked huge, and to his credit, he was almost absurdly thick. It showed when she came up for air, letting her lips 'pop' lewdly off of his growing knot, and started stroking him. Her fingers met around his shaft, but only just. Her pads were soft, and like silk if you compared them to the rough texture of her tongue, which was presently presently bathing the spaded, leaking head of his cock like it was a lollipop, making him writhe and squirm under her. She'd had enough of that, though, and planted both paws on his hips as she began to bob. She suckled and slurped at his noisily, serving only to egg on the corgi's arousal. He was panting in earnest, and the longer she went, the shorter of breath he got. If she'd had hair, his fingers would have been knotted in it. As she did not, however, he sated the urge by gripping her ears. And then he looked down.

Oh God.

She was staring at him, dead in the eye, her gaze drilling straight into his soul as she moved up and down with a grace that only a feline could muster. Her claws pricked at the arches of his hips every time he tried to buck. And then he giggled.

Fucking. Giggled.

Like a goddamned school girl.

He'd been lost in her stare for a moment, sure enough, but then had noticed the light reflecting off of one of her tunnels. And from there, he saw something that post people never would.

Two of his fingers had managed to go through the hole in her ear, and for some reason, that tickled him.

He knew that it was a major faux pas in the body mod community, and he personally hated when people unceremoniously shoved their fingers through the five-eighths-of-an-inch tunnels that graced his own ears. Maybe that's why he found it so amusing. To the lioness' credit, though, she just kept going, until she didn't.

With the most delicate scrape of teeth on tender, swollen flesh, she pulled away with another rude slurp, and grinned at him before sitting up, and ultimately standing. He went to stand up, too, but a paw placed squarely on his forehead kept his ass in the sand. With her paw still in place, she pushed at the hem of her shorts and shimmied out of them with the ease that he'd only ever seen biological(or so he thought) girls muster up. To his surprise, she was wearing panties. Not so much to his surprise, they did absolutely nothing to his the bulge of the lioness' own erect cock and the wet spot at its apex.

It wasn't a sight he was allowed to gaze upon long, though, because the panties disappeared into the sand just as quickly as her shorts had. And then, he was free! She'd removed her paw from his forehead so she could pull off her sweater, and in that short time, despite, and indeed flying in the face of all of the pot and all of the booze, he pounced on her, knocking her back into a patch of tall, lush grass, in her bare fur, save her sports bra, and what luck! it zipped in the front. Crawling up between his new lover's thighs, he nuzzled into the hollow of her throat, nipping there playfully, which only served to pull a soft moan from her lips.

Cock be damned! This lioness was, without a doubt, the hottest chick the corgi had every had the pleasure of banging. And bang her, he did, right after he tugged her support garment's zipper down using his teeth, just as she'd done to him. With her mostly(and not even remotely obviously) synthetic breasts on display under the light of the moon and stars, and his muzzle wrapped around one erects nipple, he took her hip in one paw and his dick in the other. Lining himself up, he pressed into her slowly.

God, she was tight.

Now, for those that are unfamiliar, a vagina is tight, yes, but during foreplay, a woman typically becomes aroused. This arousal usually results in some slickness(or for some, a lot of slickness). This is the woman's body's way of preparing itself for intercourse. Blood also rushes to the aroused flesh and caused it to warm and swell. Along with all of this, her vaginal muscles will also relax, a process known as 'vaginal tenting'. All of these things combine to ease the entry of the penis into the vagina, and make it less traumatic. This is not the case with an anus. The woman must consciously relax her anus, as it's natural state is constricted, our body's way of mitigating any erroneous ejections. Along with this natural contraction, the anus also does not produce the natural lubricants that the vagina does. Yes, there are slick membranes inside to ease the passage of waste, but the outside of the sphincter remains dry and unlubricated.

Such is the trial that is anal sex.

Not that either of the parties involved were complaining. Was the lioness suffering a little bit of discomfort? Yes. They didn't have any lube, except for what nature gave them; her saliva and his copious, thin pre-cum. Even with both of these substances in no shortage, the penetration had to be slow and careful, as not to hurt either of them. So that's how the corgi entered the big, fanged cat. He pushed into her with gentle pressure, waiting for her hole to relax enough to let his tip slip inside. From there, it was a bit easier, with his tapered shape.

Slowly, so slowly, he pressed inside, until the swell of his knot kissed her stretched hole, and he stopped, letting her nipple loose from his maw to moan along with her and pant. Burying his head in her bosom, they stayed like that, until her ankled lifted and locked under his stubby tail, squeezing him in a silent 'get to work'.

And he did.

Pulling out was easier than going in, but it felt almost as good. Rings of muscle flexed against his cock as he withdrew, only so that he could spread them wide once more as he penetrated her again. And again. And again. He was fucking her now, slowly, but with muscle behind each movement. Stocky, muscled legs, a long torso, and short thighs gave him a great angle for nailing his lover's prostate, forcing her to buck, moan, and squirt seminal fluid against her taut belly. His muzzle found her breast again, the one he'd not yet tended to, and suckled the teat as he rutted the creature under him, grunting as those walls worked him just as much as he worked them.

It was unfortunate that he didn't last long, but all things considered, he thought he'd done alright. I mean, the excellent blowjob, coupled with the oversensitive nerve-endings brought about by the drugs, he was lucky to last as long as he had. And if we're being honest, the constant grinding of her prostate, coupled with the friction of his belly against hers had helped the lioness along to two orgasms, with a third on the way. The only truly unfortunate, and indeed disappointment for both parties, thing was that no matter how much they attempted, the lack of planning and proper lube meant that the corgi couldn't knot his lover. No, they both had to make it through on her hips' gyration and his long, powerful thrusts. Not that either of them were complaining.

It was on the brink of the cat's third orgasm that the dog met his demise. With one last full thrust, he crammed his knot against her abused opening and howled as best a corgi could as he unloaded into her bowels, his hips bucking and grinding, attempted to seat the knot that was not destined to be seated. Truth be told, knot or not, it was the best sex the corgi had ever had. Obviously, he couldn't speak for his partner, but if the sticky mess between them was any indication, she'd thoroughly enjoyed herself, as well.

Once they'd both settled from their orgasmic high, the corgi gingerly extracted himself from under the lioness' tail, his chest still heaving as he panted and flopped over next to her, and she, as casual as could be, rolled onto her side and nestled into his, nosing into the side of his neck and grooming there as a mother would do to her cub. And that was it. They both passed out there, high on endorphins and other drugs, sleeping as peacefully as the dead, the warm sun's rays woke them the next day. They's stayed more or-less in the same position, though he'd rolled to face her, and there hips and chests were pressed together, so the only thing that anyone could see(provided they decided to go poking down a seldom used trail to a usually deserted spit of sand, surrounded by tall grass and large stones) were a pair of fuzzy asses, obviously naked, but not obscene. Silently, they both rose and collected their clothes, dressing as if it were any other day, despite the sand and bofily fluids that caked their fur. They even walked back to the parking lot together, in peaceful silence. Once they reached their cars, though, they began to part ways. That's when the corgi stopped.

"Hey, I had a great time last night. Mind if I get your number?"

It was a simple question, and an honest one, and all the lioness did was smile, shrug, and dig a scrap of paper from her pocket. She snapped it between her fingers before handing it to him. The corgi peered at it for a moment, as if confused.

"I know I only asked for your number, but um... What's your n-"

He was cut off by a single finger against his lips, and a claw hooking around the ring in his nose, tugging ever-so-lightly.

"Ah-ah, pup. No names."

And with that, she was gone, and he was left with a tingling in his sheath.