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He entered as gracefully as a five foot eight cougar could, threaded muscles slamming the door to the shared dormitory with an almighty crash. On the field, the quarterback was a star athlete, fast and light on his footpaws but terrifyingly strong, like a freight train, yet off the pitch subtlety was least among his strongest suits. Though at a glance his stature was by no means overwhelming, more adept for track than field, but his mass, compacted so tightly into every inch of him, seemed to bristle with adrenaline and strength. His arrival was announced via a trumpeting encore of dropped duffel bags containing his kit and an overwhelming flood of heady sweat that swathed the room quickly until it felt as if no surface remained pure. Heat swelled with him too, his breathing ragged, as if he had run the whole journey from practice to their dorm.

"Woah, man!" Declared the cougar, perhaps not to the otter on the bed, but as if to the room, proudly, boastfully, "I'm fuckin' beat! Coach must've been on his period or some shit 'cause he was a right moody mare. Don't think I've ever sweated so much..."

From the bed, Jon threw an unassuming look up as the cougar made the staggered, bolstering entrance. The difference between them was slight, but pronounced. One was a male fattened by protein and long workouts, brimming with confidence and testosterone. Jon however was much slimmer, far leaner with a more drawn out look as limbs, lacking true muscle definition, seemed longer than they were. Though Arlo was hardly a jarhead fresh from the gym, the two together accentuated a difference more noticeable had they met just as strangers upon the street.

As if satisfied by acknowledging Arlo's return, his eyes slipped back to the screen held before him, finding himself scrolling idly through one blog or another. In the back of his mind, he considered swapping apps, something to hide the endless column of upturned butts and pert holes that, had Arlo not ruined the mood. Absently he flicked his thumb through a few more posts, a delicious horse ass belonging to a particular size queen he'd chatted to, another of a rhino who would mercilessly tease him whenever he worked out. His distraction however led to a brazen paw was plucking his phone from his paws in a flash, pushy and without consideration, the feline turning to examine the phone for himself.

Embarrassed astonishment washed over Jon's face as the sabre-toothed otter, whose paws held dumb in the air as if holding a phantom phone, shot to glare at the cougar who allowed a plain, gleeful snigger to peel across his lips as he saw with his own eyes the never-ending sea of forgotten cock and balls and the focused rumps, each and every individual on the feed spreading those cheeks as if inviting their viewers to dive right on in.

"Dirty fucker," Arlo smirked, as thumb slid through a dozen more posts, "Man, if I'd been a few minutes late, I'd've caught you rubbing one out." Jon didn't answer. He refused to answer, instead choosing to glower at the cougar as he tried to snatch his phone back. He missed, reflexes too quick for him, and Arlo tutted as if chiding a misbehaving child, "You can have this back later. So long as you do a favour for me."

"What?" The word was spat with venom. Jon felt hot frustration prickling under his skin.

"Showers're still broken in the changing room," Arlo stated plainly, as if that fact alone was of worth to Jon, "and I'm bored."

Anger might have supplanted the shock, or to a lesser degree at least frustrated annoyance, but what slewed him second was the cougar turning upon the spot, dropping his baggy shorts, and bending over. Immediate thirst burnt the otter's throat, until it was dry and already stifled; he squirmed uncomfortably as, in the scant few seconds between Arlo's disrobement and the cougar straddling the bed, the feline pushed that upturned, thick ass into the otter's gawping face.

Muzzle slide between sweaty cheeks, the stale fur within damp with Arlo's stewing perspiration, and pinned to the headboard under the quarterback's rump there was nowhere to go but deeper. Jon grunted in disapproval, or perhaps it was disgust, it was so hard to tell between those meaty buttocks, but body language made efforts to be heard as the otter pushed on Arlo's thighs, attempting in vain to prise the cougar's weight off of him as he found their bodies sinking. Arlo leaned himself back, and with it he forced Jon into the pillows, lying trapped to the bed under the feline who seemed quite content to settle his ass upon his roommate's face.

"There," he said aloud happily, "That's better." Cougar cheeks wiggled, Jon slipped deeper still, as much as he pressed his palms against Arlo's rump to push him off. Muffled underneath, he swore he heard his cloud being opened, a whole gallery seldom shared of pictures that should never see the light of day. Panic seized him, he gave a frantic grunt under the cougar's ass. "Now that's a cap I haven't seen." Jon froze, as he listened to the cougar read the words aloud, "Show me that butthole..." He gave a rich chuckle, "Fitting, well there you go buddy... there's my butthole. And if you don't want mommy and daddy seeing what their son gets up to away at college, I suggest you start kissing that shitter as if your life depended on it."

For a moment, Jon did nothing. There was no way he would degrade himself in the face of blackmail, no less put his mouth anywhere near the cougar's butthole. That was disgusting, it made his skin crawl to think about it, but between the fat cheeks of the big cat's ass he heard and all too familiar tap of artificial clicks.

"Dad, I know you said nobody likes a kiss-ass, but I just couldn't help myself..."Arlo spoke the words aloud for the pinned otter's benefit, his voice lacking any trace of guilt, or worse yet any malice. He squirmed, as he making himself comfortable, but when Jon heard the tell-tale snap of a camera's shutter, he realised the feline was just posing for one graphic, family-ruining selfie. "Get smooching or I'm hitting send."

Part of him felt he could have resisted more, that on principle he had done no wrong and that he could have convinced his way out of an uncomfortable conversation with friends or family should Arlo follow through on his idle threat, but deep down he feared the reality. The potential outcomes were mounting on that niggling doubt in the back of his mind and it began to consume him, propelling his mouth forwards as willpower gave way to instinct. Delicately he placed his lips around the cougar's pert rim, the soft, pliant flesh of his hole unseasonably warm, and for a moment he held there. No tongue, no spit, just a chaste kiss of lips to ass, but smothered under the cougar's rump it made Jon shiver with some unknown feeling. Anticipation maybe, or revulsion? The fact he was struggling to decode his own addled brain worried him, and for a few seconds he found himself frozen, mouth to ass with Arlo, kissing his pucker just as the feline had demanded.

"Well that's how you kiss your mom," Arlo breathed as the camera shutter clicked again, "But how about you kiss it like you would your brother?" Jon's body went numb, his blood frozen in its veins, suddenly suffocating under the cougar's backside. He couldn't possibly know, there was no way he could. "Suck that arse and do Kevin proud." Was he going through his messages now? It had been so long since he'd actually spoken to Kevin, but there could have been enough on his phone... Jon couldn't have been sure, all he knew was that the pit he was sinking into was getting deeper and deeper the longer he allowed Arlo the leisure of meandering through his phone.

Tentatively he put his tongue forwards, opening his mouth and drawing in the sensation of the tip pressing against Arlo's shitter. The taste was sharp, tart, and left its stinging impression on his mouth like a greasy stain that refused to be washed away. Some part of him conferred to himself that this was exactly how he had imagined Arlo to have tasted, it matched his natural aroma so readily it seemed indiscriminately him. Pungent and masculine, yet clean and crisp, like rinsed soap followed by a sweaty sheen.

The feeling was something else however, a texture familiar yet distinctly and discerningly strange. Jon however was no novice however, nor was he estranged to buttholes. He never would have dared admit as much to anyone, especially Arlo, but his fixation with the male's rear end went above and beyond a meagre kink. It was an obsession, the otter's deepest and most reliable means of finding arousal in sex, from his earliest waning memories of puberty to the present day. Porn had sated his fetish for asshole for a while, but eventually he craved the real thing, when hormones had him begging any man,every man, to bend over and show him their puckered holes. Kevin, Arlo, his own father... as, the saying went, same shitters, different dudes.

At least, his saying went like that.

"Put some effort into it," Arlo remarked, asshole throbbed as if conscious of itself and its masters will, the rim pulsing out to meet Jon's tongue, suckle on it, coax him to penetrate deeper. "Your bro Kevin here says you practically made out with his shitter back in the day."

He wasn't messaging him, was he? Renewed hot shame burnt in Jon, but he was powerless to stop him, or at least that's what he concluded to himself. Whether he could have fought his way out from under Arlo was a matter in its own right, yet still he remained, kissing the cougar's butthole without even the truest hint of refusal. Arlo probably was sending texts to his brother, he'd already taken several mementos of the otter under his backside, it was an all too real reality that was happening and Jon was sitting back - or rather, lying back - and letting it steamroll over him.

His shame was hotter when he realised he was harder than a rock and tenting in his pants, turned on beyond belief as his roommate wiggled his rump firmer down,

"Come on, bro, French it up!"

Jon offered his best, most eager slurp of the cougar's ass. He pushed, albeit not much, into the feline's guts and sampled a much stronger taste of Arlo's distinct musk. It had a ripe tang on the tongue than just the outside, and the heat only intensified the further he dared to press. But the cougar's pucker flexed, muscles contracting and pushing, and what had only ever intended to be short dive plunged deeper as the jock's butt drew him in. His tongue was embedded, maybe an inch, into Arlo's ass, and Jon found himself out of impulse just purring in lewd satisfaction as flavours and feelings began to slip free from the guard he'd been holding up. He cared no longer what Arlo thought - or for that matter did - as he sucked on the athlete's hole, probing his tongue deeper into the damp, sticky confines of his innards.

"Ah, horny fucker!" Arlo growled happily, tail flicking against the pillows as the otter ate him out, "You sure you've not done this before?" The irony dripped from his words and he laughed to himself, snickering snuffed with a moaned sigh of pleasure. Jon planted his paws against the jock's buttocks and pulled them apart, digging deep as he pushed his muzzle deeper. Arlo's rump, though not huge, was thick and tight with corded muscle, and he felt the cougar's minute flexes under the skin where he balanced himself over his head, pushing down on his abdomen as his hole smooched against Jon's lips. It was like working in tandem, as Arlo squeezed down and smothered his shitter to Jon's face, the otter would surge forwards, tongue and mouth at the ready as he feasted on the jock's ripe, unwashed hole. His tongue was groped in the cougar's throbbing asshole, the tightening muscle wrapping and caressing around him as if trying to draw him deeper, but Jon was too lost in his own lust to refuse the feline. He could feel his head rubbing against the fabric of his underwear uncomfortably, trapped and straining, and pre had been drooling from his tip for a while now, leaking against his crotch until a faint, growing stain had appeared, darkening with each passing second. Arlo made no comment on it though, he didn't even feel the need to let the otter's cock breathe in open air, as if he didn't care really. After all, he was only sitting on Jon's face because he had frankly admitted to having nothing else better to do. Though his grunts and groans at least showed he was enjoying the otter suffering the sweaty humiliation of blackmailed ass-eating.

There was a soft beep, an indicative chime, but unable to see anything past the murky blackness of the cougar's ass meant whatever Arlo was doing remained his own personal secret. He made an effort however of again gyrating his rump back onto Jon's face, earning a raucous grunt from the otter who slurped hungrily at his hole. By now any tightness had been worn away, and the dryness of before was now slickened with spit. Jon could taste as much himself as the cougar, his own saliva seemingly forever tainted with the feline's musky flavours. Each gulp of surplus spit coated his throat in the taste, lined his cheeks as if oily, and his tongue felt so smothered in the jock's insides that it became hard to know where his mouth ended and Arlo's guts began. He worked tirelessly, sloppily, headily as he clung to the jock's buttocks to dig as deep as he possibly could. His face was impressed upon the cat's backside, muscle melted to cheekbones, jaw clamped between thighs, nose pinned tight in the feline's crack.

"Clearly havin' the time of his life." Arlo's words were muffled and indirect. He wasn't talking to the otter, otherwise he'd have made it clear. It was teasing, but appreciable, not for him but as if he were talking to someone else in the room, someone else watching. "Take a look at the retard's dick. Harder than a fucking rock." Paws fumbled with his belt, then his fly, then his underwear, until the waistband snapped over his sack and exposed the jutting meat of his erection. Fingers wrapped around his length and stroked it casually, no flourish to suppose pleasure, no attempt at relishing the otter's arousal. Mindless and idle, like remarking upon an exhibit in a museum. Look, but don't touch. "I wish you'd messaged me sooner, Kev. Your lil 'bro' is really chowin' down on my butt! I've got pics, don't worry."

Familiar embarrassment welled up inside him as he sucked harder on the cougar's puckering shitter, mewling between moans as he slobbered and slurped as if starved of anything but the jock's ass. His own paws reached down to his crotch, any attempt of feigning disinterest in his own arousal lost long ago, and he tried to stroke his own erection, desperate to relief the strain. But Arlo's paws caught his wrists, and planted the otter's hold right back on the cougar's hips. It was clear where the jock wanted his attention to be, and pitifully Jon yielded and kept his grip on the feline's waist. Weight leaned back against his head, obscured darkness turning to total black, as Arlo finally rested his full body on top of the otter. Jon had nowhere to go but deeper as his ass was swallowed between the cheeks, nothing but a body and neck sticking out across the bed beneath the jock's exposed rump. He wanted to see the pictures, he wanted to watch them in a slideshow and jerk off as his face burnt in humiliation, and he wanted to finger his own asshole as like some twisted pervert he came to the sight of himself deep in another man's pert backside. He'd lick his lips and remember the taste, envision the sight of that pucker in his mind, and whimper as he closed his eyes to rebuild the texture of hot, wrinkled flesh pursing against his own mouth.

Undoubtedly then he would beg for Arlo to sit on his face again, peel down his gym shorts and jockstrap as soon as he got back from practice in future, now that there was no turning back. Arlo had all the material he needed, all he would have to do is ask and Jon could say nothing but yes please and drop to his knees as the jock bent over. He groaned into the cougar's hole, tongue a good few inches deep - as deep as it could have possibly gone - into the feline's sweaty guts as he felt his cock surge. Cum streaked across his torso, up his stomach and abdomen, as his own lusty fantasy alone drove him to a struggled climax. Arlo just laughed, amused that he'd pushed the otter to orgasm with nothing but an ass in - or dare he admit, on - his face, and smothered him in butthole until he had cum. The camera's shutter snapped again, several times in fact, and Jon panted hotly against the suckling rim of the cougar's butt as he remained connected, tongue lodged deep, breathless yet still hungry.

Whether Arlo took Jon's climax as a stopping point or that the otter's exhaustion was enough to merit getting off, Jon didn't know, but he reviled at his own feeling of loss and neediness as the cougar lifted himself off his face. Jon breathed clean air for the first time, his face stinking of the cougar's sweat and butt, his breath tasting of nothing but ass, gulping back the drying spit in his mouth. He lay there, face drenched in sweat, either his own or Arlo's, and his shirt streaked soaked lines of cum that had painted his torso, his cock sagged limp against his balls. Some part of him believed he was unable to move, plastered into the mattress like an invalid, but he reckoned if he mustered the strength to lift himself up he could have. He easily could have snatched his phone back from the cougar who had returned to pointing the camera's lens directly at him, he could have just brought the sheets across his nudity to cover his shame, prevent the jock from getting anymore damning material, but he didn't. Arlo snapped as many photos as he liked, and in a moment's pause, from one phone to another his own cell chimed. Received files, fuck knows how many, and the cougar's face lit up with a smile as he scrolled through the exported photos and videos. He had his own copies now, utterly out of reach of the otter, saved indefinitely, maybe even on the cloud, etched forever in the cougar's bag of tricks.

"I'm gonna take a shower," Arlo announced, softly tossing the otter's phone onto his bed, returning the device to him, "If you want to clean yourself up and get some more of this fine ass," the cougar smacked his own buttock cheekily, the muscled globe rippling under the impact, "I'd suggest joinin' me, roomie..."

He disappeared into their shared bathroom, the shower's stream flashing on as the sound of rushing water filled the dorm. His phone buzzed, over and over, and for a second the otter didn't want to know just how far the cougar had gone. The extent of the damage must have been far reaching as the notifications came pouring in, but all Jon could do was pick himself up off the bed, peel away his soiled shirt, and follow Arlo into the bathroom.