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The lion lives in my dreams.

I never remember getting into his car, or even who he is. A friend, giving me a lift? A stranger, helping out a hitchhiker? A lover? It never matters. We sit side by side as he drives, the day's last light igniting the sky behind him when I look over. It makes his mane glow, and I can't stop looking. He's so fucking beautiful. He's got one hand on the wheel, and one's just resting on his thigh, all casual and potent. He's relaxed and comfortable, staring out at the road. It's like he doesn't know I'm there at first. His hand flexes on the wheel now and then, making his bicep bulge, and it draws my eyes. Of fucking course it does. My eyes slide along his beautiful arm. I can see a tuft of his underarm hair poking out. Russet red, like flame. Like the sun burning in the sky behind him. Like his mane.

He's got a blue tank on. It's exactly the same colour as his eyes. I see that when he turns to look at me, with a smirk that makes me pant. He notices me, and my stare. We're not moving anymore. When did the car stop? I don't remember. Who even fucking cares? The lion's gorgeous eyes have pulled me in, and I am lost. His smirk grows, and I think I whimper. I break the look and drop my eyes lower. His gym shorts are teal. It's my favourite colour as well now. Because of him. Teal...and small. Too small, far too fucking small to hold back what's inside them. His one hand's still casually on his thigh, and next to it, bulging the material out in front of him...his erect cock. Hard as sin, and waiting.

He's never bothered by my look. He seems to expect it. He lets me have my fill of the sight of his lycra-covered monster, and it's an eternity before he speaks.

"You like that." Always a statement. He's not looking for validation, least of all from me. He knows what he is - and what I am. We're both lions, but he's...more. More everything. He is the pack leader, and I the upstart male, eyeing him out. But not to dethrone him. Fuck no! I don't ever want him to stop being in control. I just want to join his pride, to be nearer to him. To make sure he's being treated like a king should be.

A nod is my only response. No point wasting air on words. I'm too busy breathing. Smelling him. His musk suffuses the cab, and it's magnificent. I spread my nostrils wide to capture as much as I can. It's raw, leonine scent. It's dry savannah and roaring in defiance at summer thunder and fucking fifty times a day because it is his right as lord of the pride. And it's coming from that crotch.

Right on time, he lifts a hand and places it behind my head. I wait, meek as a buck, for him to do as he wishes. The hand tenses, and my head goes down. Right into his lap. I close my eyes and breathe in deep. Oh, fuck. Oh...fuck...

It's overpowering. My eyes water, my head swims. "Sniff it," he says, but I'm far ahead of him. I'm gulping down huge breaths of him, pushing my nose harder against that bulge. I can feel the cock through the material. Hard, hot, musky. Just fucking perfect. I maw at it, desperate for more, but that fucking fabric...

I do it anyway.

My spit soaks through, and I can see the veins of his dick outlined against lycra. One of my hands grabs his calf and pulls his leg closer to me, spreading his crotch wider. I push my nose deeper. There's a tuft of fire poking out just above his pants, and I rub my nose through it. It's not enough. I need it all.

"You want my musk." Of course I do. He knows it. He can see me, hear me. I'm moaning and shaking like an addict. If he pulled me away, I'd break down and cry. But he doesn't. The king is merciful...but he does demand payment. "You're gonna nut for me," he says, and I jump to it. My hand scrabbles to pull my pants down, but he grabs my wrist. "Nu uh," he murmurs. His voice is getting rougher, like my dry tongue. "If you want more than just a smell...keep them on." Of course, sir. Anything for you, sir. I grab my dick around a handful of material and jerk it like a fucking mad thing. His musk sears me. My throat is raw from smelling him, and I'm not close to sated. I moan in lust, and jerk faster. The honour of cumming for this stud. The pleasure of doing as he says. The perfection of his scent.

It never takes long. I am weak, and he is...who he is. My muzzle is pressed deep into the cleft between his cock and his thigh, where his musk is strongest. As sweaty dampness kisses my nose, my hand completes its work. I grunt and unload. The sweet smell of my cum joins his musk in the overheated air, and my body spasms with the pleasure of it. I blow four hard shots into my underwear, and I'm done. It's wet against my skin, but warm. It starts to soak into my fur. I lift my head slowly from him, panting, licking my lips. He's looking at me with satisfaction. One of his hands reaches over to cup my softening cock and my balls, massaging them, smearing them against the fresh cum. He must feel the wetness.

He does.

"Good boy." He leans back with feline nonchalance and tucks two thumbs into his pants. They ride down with elastic ease, and his cock bounces back up against his belly. It's everything the bulge promised. Long. Thick. Stinking of him. The crimson head throbs, a drop of pre-cum at the tip. With its source revealed, his musk takes over. I don't see him anymore. I can't. There is just his cock...and his smell.

I don't need a hand on my head this time. I lower my head and swallow. He's big, but I'm needy. I force the thick length into me, his taste swirling in my cheeks. My tongue scrapes against his flesh, and he growls. I moan, and he growls again, more dangerously. A mating noise. A male in need. A king, dominating.

I lift my head, and lower it again. His spit-slicked cock reappears, then slides back in. I let my tongue catch on his head to tease, and then push hard to catch it in my throat and clench. I want to milk him. I want to taste his seed. I push him deeper. My reward...if my nose preaches his skin, I can smell his fur again. The rhythm, then: swallow, and pull up, and lick, and push down, down, down...and sniff. Deep-throating him becomes my life. One hand cradles his fuzzy balls, keeping the king's jewels warm. They have an important duty to fulfil.

His chest is rumbling. "Deeper," he says, and I do. "Faster." His hips are bucking in time with my head, forcing his cock inside me. It's choking me. I adore it. "Swallow me," he commands, and I am ready. Not a drop of this stud's spunk will escape my body. Two hands grasp my own mane, and then he's face-fucking me with all his strength. I'm not moving anymore. I'm just a vessel for his release. He's rumbling is deeper, and he's growling too. Saying dirty things. Calling me his bitch, his cum-dump. He's swearing to nobody in particular, and thrusting his hips so fast his cock is a hot, wet blur. His balls are bouncing in my palm, and the heat in the cab is sweltering. My world is lion musk and lion cock. I'm as hard again as I was before, but I don't touch myself. He didn't say I could.

He thrusts in - and holds me there. I can feel his cock pulsing against the sides of my throat, and his swollen glans blocking my airway. I never want it to end. I feel saliva dripping onto the back of my neck as he snarls down at me, tense and quivering, on the edge.

I clench to make my throat tighten, and he cums.

It's hot, bitter. Not like his pre. But it's everything I want, and I swallow instantly. The heat lingers longer than the aftertaste, but he's got a second spurt for me to fix that. He's roaring, but hearing isn't a sense I need right now. I just need taste, and smell, and feeling. I am impaled on his feline prick. I can hardly breathe. Every breath that I do drag in is full of him. Another pulse, another spurt of his maleness. I cannot swallow fast enough. His balls are still throbbing, that must mean there's more to come. So much more. More, sir, more. Fill me, fuck me.

I'm still suckling on his prick like a baby to a teat when it's softened enough that I'm no longer in danger of asphyxiation. Every last drop of cum is in me, but I have to make sure. My tongue explores, and I'm still moaning. It's for him. I want him to know how much I enjoyed it. I want to make sure that if he does it again, he chooses me. His little musk-slut.

When I look up at last, he's laying back. The seat's reclined. His arms are tucked behind his head, and two shining sweaty russet pits are out for me. Like a moth to a flame, I rise and go to them. My nose nestles in, and I close my eyes once more. Deep breaths, to absorb his comforting scent. One hand still cupping his balls, to thank them. The other sneaking into my own pants to get a taste of myself. It's a good day. I'll be really upset when I wake up. But that won't happen yet. He's only cum once so far.

Things can just be good for a while.