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Stripped

Neil couldn't believe he was in a strip club. To be fair, he hadn't known it was a strip club when his friends dragged him in there. With a name like "The Cockpit", it was a testament to his innocence that he didn't realize it right away, and it was a testament to his nerdiness that he noticed the old sci-fi props the proprietors had used to decorate the place like a pulpy golden age sci-fi ace's lounge before he noticed the stage and stripper poles. As the light dimmed and the music picked up, he found himself caught in a much more engrossing puzzle than determining which issue of Amazing Stories the blaster prop on the wall came from.

The puzzle took the form of the bewitching dancer on stage. A lion, or lioness, currently dangling upside down from a stripper pole who wore a retro spandex "uniform" that was tight enough it should leave absolutely no doubt as to the equipment that the individual carried, and yet... Neil still wasn't one hundred percent sure. The way she, no, he. They? The way they carried themself was utterly perplexing. Neil leaned forward in his chair, the wide egg-shaped prop that had fascinated him before the performer took the stage totally forgotten. His posture was classic ermine sentry pose, though luckily the sitting area for patrons was dark enough, and the performers captivating enough, he remained out of sight and able to maintain enraptured vigilance in peace. His long whiskers were perked forward, bright eyes sparkling with unrelenting focus like he was a wild thing watching for a predator to dash across the landscape and devour him. The adrenaline did nothing to enhance his gender-perception skills. It wasn't his fault though, if he wasn't so new to the strip club experience he might have noticed that the feline was intentionally baiting the audience into this guessing game. Their hair was long, and fiery, and on any other species it would be an unambiguously feminine style, but something about it on a lion evoked images of the noble manes borne by ancient virile kings. Of course, that was only the start of the obfuscation. They wore makeup, quite a bit of it, graceful swoops of eyeliner to accentuate long lashes, and vibrant eyeshadow. Again, Neil would call it unambiguously feminine, evidence that the performer was trying to atleast give off the impression of appealing to raw heterosexual desire... except that Neil had only ever seen the look pulled off by drag queens on tv. Which, much to his frustration, meant it ultimately gave absolutely no hints as to what sort of gender experience the lion was offering! If only poor Neil had more experience, he would have realized that was the point, and not been so hopelessly enraptured. The club's regulars came tonight to watch the lion for exactly this sublime expression of androgyny. As they danced they held themself carefully, chest curved to give the impression of a swell of breasts, their hips twisted so that shadows played along the line of the groin to give the impression of a bulge- before a shift of muscles and stage light just as convincingly took the illusion away. It was maddening to the analytical ermine, a maze to trap and exhaust his logical brain, letting his instincts run wild and free.

Well, not completely free. The tightness of his "fashionable" skinny jeans was a quite meaningful restriction. Neil shifted in his seat, as much to try and alleviate the physical discomfort of his growing arousal as to find the perfect view to figure out the puzzle once and for all. It was hopeless, he was just playing into the maddening lion's hands. In fact, Neil was sure more than once that the dancer on stage was looking directly at him. Which only made Neil's predicament beneath the belt worse. He blushed fiercely as he watched, wondering again and again if the lion could really see anything of the patrons when the sitting area was so dark. He wasn't sure if he wanted the big cat's attention or- well, that was a lie. One part of him was very sure what it wanted. His dick throbbed as the lion's sky blue eyes met his own for a second, and Neil shivered as he imagined what those fangs would feel like. But when the lion slunk off the pole, swinging their hips and stalking across the stage directly toward him, Neil shrank back in his chair- arousal or no arousal. Something told him that he was doomed if the big predator caught him in those painted claws. It wasn't that they were particularly large, or muscular, or anything like that. In fact, had they passed on the street, or in class, Neil was sure he wouldn't have given the performer a second look. But here, in the dim light, the ermine could forget everyone else in the room, forget this was a performance, forget what he was supposed to want and become lost in the moment. His breath caught in his throat as he watched them strip off that skin-tight spandex, revealing curves and lean muscles covered in fine fur... His heart raced. He wanted something, something he could barely put his finger on. He wanted it so badly that he knew he would do anything that the lion asked. They wouldn't have to lift a finger- Neil would be helpless, captured utterly by a single husky whisper.

He paused, imagination hitting a snag. What would their voice sound like? He had no idea, no context to imagine it. The lion was on their knees now, a graceful curve, showing off their feline flexibility, arching their back. Then they slipped their hands free of the spandex suit, folded it down to their waist, chest facing away from the audience, keeping them guessing even now, half naked. The ambiguity hung thick in the air as the lion hooked their thumbs into the waistline of that suit, hidden zipper sliding open, the material parting in an agonizing cascade. What would Neil see? Would the lion be wearing anything beneath? Were nude strip clubs legal here?! He had no idea. He realized he was leaning forward again, that the lion's crotch was at eye level, that he was close enough to see how that the fur of that tawny pelt became finer the lower it became on their flat midriff. The curve of muscles on their hips seemed perfectly toned to guide an eye, or a hand down, down and down, to whatever lay between those fine thighs. Neil's mouth felt dry. He realized then that he didn't know what he wanted to see. He should know that, shouldn't he? Should he be hoping to see the gentle curve of a feminine slit, perhaps shining with wet arousal beneath bright stage lights? He couldn't picture that clearly. He couldn't focus on that image, kept being distracted by the ambiguity, the mystery literally unfolding before him with every inch of uniform that slipped off the lion's body.

Neil had essentially assumed he was straight, but he didn't really have any experience to know for sure. Clumsy kisses at a middle school summer camp hardly served as a steady basis for an entire sexuality. He noticed other guys sometimes, sure. He always assumed it was just envy- the slim ermine struggled to bulk up, and he was short enough, his winter coat long enough, that he spent half of his freshman year at college being mistaken for a girl. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the dancer slowly, so slowly revealing themself before him.

What would it be like? If that shadow at the lions crotch wasn't just a shadow. What if that fold of tight fabric was the line of balls, heavy and full. That image wouldn't go away. It made too much sense. The feline was lean, yes, but even the leanest lioness would have more of a curve to her hips, more of a rise to her chest, would have a soft mound revealed by this endless strip tease not a, not a...

The ambiguity was dispelled, the lion finally ridding himself of the shroud of that sky blue spandex outfit in a smooth stroke. The final moments felt so fast compared to the agonizing teasing of mere seconds earlier. He had revealed himself- his full glory revealed beneath bright stage lights. A thick red cock resting against his inner thigh, heavy, half hard, soft furred balls full and proud beneath it.

Neil realized part of him knew the whole time. It was obvious now, the stripper straightening, running his hands down his own body, fondling his equipment as he stood up and kicked away the puddle of fabric to the roar of applause. Neil hardly heard the crowd in the club. His arousal had not diminished. It was a constant ache the ermine couldn't ignore- the heat of his own cock trapped against his body in a prison of dull-everyday cotton. It didn't feel right, the moment felt magical, like a fantasy of another place. Neil could hardly catch his breath, swept up in the display, out of place in boring street clothes, a boring overwhelmed nerd who had stumbled into the wrong world. The dance before him had the impossible allure of the forbidden. It was intoxicating. The dancer loomed over him now, his movements faster, picking up with the tempo of the song. The mystery had been dispelled, but the lion used that momentum flawlessly, replacing the tense ambiguity of before with unrelenting energy. His tail lashed, his paws a blur on the stage, Neil would swear those claws on his feet drew actual sparks as he danced and spun to the pulsing, enveloping bassline. The lion was still effeminate, there could be no doubt there. His hips swayed, his hands tracing complex furrows in his own silky pelt. He was teasing the audience still- not with hidden knowledge, but with desire, unsatisfiable and profane. He cast a spell with the curve of his ass, a flash of something shining below the base of his tail as it raised.

But Neil felt like he had slipped free of the riptide. He slipped back in his chair, no longer trapped by the mystery the lion had hid. The show wasn't for him anymore. No longer did it feel like the lion's gaze lingered on him, and him alone. The ermine didn't wait breathlessly any longer, wasn't captured by the dancer's every move, wasn't spellbound and captured to see only what the lion wanted him to see.

Because he wasn't watching for a glimpse of that ass.

No, something else had captured Neil, and he didn't know what to do about it. His mind drifted, doubting himself. Why did he want to see it so badly? His eyes were glued to the lion's hips as he turned, swayed, covered himself with his hands. It was infuriating. When he had stripped he had been so shameless- that image of the lion's cock was burned into Neil's brain, as if he had stared at it for hours. He couldn't think of anything else. He wanted, needed to see it again, see it closer. The dancer would not fulfill that need for him. His mind raced with questions, unbidden, unanswerable.

What would it look like fully hard?

Would it throb with arousal, just from being displayed, or would it take more to awaken the lion's lust?

Were those balls really as heavy as they looked, swaying under their own weight?

Was this lion, this dancer, this androgynous beauty who shifted before his eyes, was he gifted not only with grace, but with power, with virility?

How would Neil's length compare?

Did that matter?

Neil greedily drank in every glimpse of the lion's maleness as he danced. He had no idea how much longer the dance would go. The song seemed to be building to a climax. What was left of the show, now that the game was up? Neil cursed every flagrant reveal of the lion's ass, every provocative pose that screamed for another male to come and mount the androgynous interloper dancing before them. The dancer taunted the crowd, his body daring them to claim him, but Neil didn't wonder what the lion would feel like beneath him. No, his mind raced with other scenarios. What would it feel like, if the dancer's hands held his body as possessively as his own? If golden claws traced furrows in the ermine's arctic white coat instead? Would the dancer purr, or would he growl as he pressed against Neil from behind, holding him tight with effortless, graceful strength? What would it feel like? What would it feel like, to cradle heavy, needy balls, aching to release? What would it feel like to hold cock, that cock, that cock that danced in front of him and his mind even now, in his own soft paws? Would it be hot? Would it be slick from arousal, or just hard, firm, unyielding until, until Neil pressed his lips against it, slickening it with his own tongue, tasting it...

Neil realized the lion was drifting away, the song had ceased building, the bass and melody fading until the cheers of the crowd overpowered it. They were happy, drunk, they had enjoyed seeing the lion, and if they couldn't cajole him back to the stage with whistles and catcalls, well the next performer would be sure to be just as fine. They always were. Neil couldn't join them. He felt consumed by a sense of confusion, melancholy. His thoughts from moments ago foreign, fantasies he'd never had before strange in his mind. But his cock was still uncomfortable, trapped. His body's arousal refused to abide, no matter how unfamiliar the stimulus was to his poor brain. His friends chatted, sipped drinks, complimenting the lion. He was new, they hadn't seen him before. They recognized who was next though, knew the silhouette of a graceful vixen, and their conversation moved on, discussing her curves, shows she had done...

But the show moved on without Neil. He couldn't escape the lion's pull. The music was building again, the vixen beginning her show, all buxom curves and ruthless sensuality, but it held no pull on Neil. He needed fresh air. He shifted, pressing his paw against the hard shaft bent unfortably in his jeans. He felt trapped. He mumbled an excuse to his friends, getting up and ignoring their chuckling teases that he would miss the vixen's dance. He looked around for a place for respite, but the club, all the way back to the bar was packed. His eyes scanned for an exit, a bathroom, a stairwell maybe, somewhere to collect his thoughts. He felt self conscious, darting through the crowd, trying not to think about the lion, about his arousal that refused to go away. He kept his head down, not wanting to catch anyone's eye. What if someone saw how the show had captivated him? A mad thought consumed his mind- if he looked up, would he catch the attention of another lion? A panther? Some other predator with a toothy smile and lean muscles like the dancer's- They could whisk him away, they would conspire with his traitorous mind, his arousal, his cock to take him somewhere new. Was it fear? Or lust that drove his imagination? He didn't know. Couldn't look up. He brushed passed bodies until he saw a small unmarked door, past some booths, far enough away from lights and the stage that the patrons here were just entwined shadows, writhing phantasms plucked from the thoughts Neil could not escape. His nose twitched, he could smell nothing but lust, thick and intoxicating. The music was loud again- it was too much!

He practically dashed ahead, pulling open the door and slamming it behind him. He blinked as his eyes adjusted. The light here wasn't exactly bright, but it had him squinting compared to the writhing shadows of the club. The music behind him was just a muffled thumping. He took a breath, feeling like his heart rate was settling. He wasn't sure where the door had taken him. It certainly wasn't a restroom, just a long hall ending in a T, with retro shag carpet and wood panelling that didn't match the club at all. Maybe there were restrooms at the end of the hall? Maybe it just led to a stairwell to apartments upstairs-

He squeaked as a figure came around the little intersection and spotted him. His mind immediately began to race again, his cock throbbing. Any hope that it was just the alcohol, the loud music, the crowded club that was making him so, so, desperately aroused was dispelled the second he saw the lion come around that corner. He was dressed now, somewhat, in a tank top and loose shorts that hung off his hips. Neil had seen guys wearing something similar, dozens, hundreds of times, at the gym, in the dorms, jogging in the park. Yet, his breath caught in his throat when the lion saw him. His heart threatened to leap out of his chest when he smiled and turned to walk over. Neil leaned back against the door in a panic, trying to get it open without looking away from the lion. Did it push? Did it pull? How could he not remember?! It clicked, and didn't budge. Locked. Neil shrank back, feeling small. Some rational part of him realized that the lion wasn't that much taller than him. But the rest of his brain was busy conjuring that image, that perfect image of the dancer's thick cock resting against his thigh. Neil's eyes flicked down to the lion's crotch- the shorts were so loose. Was that a bulge? Was he aroused, or was that just fabric? He made a squeaking sound as he realized the lion must see that he was staring right at his crotch. His eyes flicked back up to the lion's. He flushed immediately when he saw the knowing grin there. He was so close now. Tawny, lanky, his long red hair reaching the small of his back, it felt like he towered over Neil, a small white fluff of an ermine. His nose twitched, and caught a whiff of perfume. Something soft, fresh, like a sweet meadow after a storm. There was another scent underneath that one, something spicier, something decidedly more male. Neil's cock throbbed, and he gulped as the dancer leaned forward, arm resting on the door above the ermine's head. Neil's eyes were level with the lion's muzzle, his sharp teeth. He flicked his gaze up and caught the lion's again.

"You have to turn this handle to open it." the lion said. His voice was a husky warm tenor, though not as feminine as Neil had expected during the earlier performance.

"W-what?" Neil squeaked, stuttering. He couldn't remember a word the lion had said.

"The door." he explained, patiently, smiling. As if he was used to this. As if it was normal. It was ok. "It isn't supposed to open from the outside, so there is a little handle you turn to get it to open."

Neil heard a rusty squeak as the lion presumably demonstrated. He couldn't look away to observe. The dancer didn't look either. Like he knew that Neil could not give one fuck about how to operate any door right now. His smile widened a bit as he watched Neil. The ermine felt quite small, his instincts screaming at him that that grin full of teeth was a hungry one, that there was a dangerous gleam in the feline's eye. It didn't matter how lithe, how slim, how effeminate the lion was. Gender didn't much come into play when a larger, fiercer predator was looming over you. Neil's mind raced, trying again to rationalize that this racing of his heart, this shortness of breath, this desperate yearning he felt was just crossed wires from alcohol, dim lights, loud music, lingering arousal- his cock throbbed against his own thigh as, unbidden, the image of the lion's cock flashed before his eyes again. Despite himself, he knew there was one difference between a lion or a lioness looming over him. A large difference, if his memory could be trusted. Fear was not the only instinctual, unconscious response Neil was feeling, it was not the reason his heart was in his throat, the reason his tail curled around his hip, it's black tip and the heat of his blush the only two colors on the ermine's otherwise snow white coat.

"Hey" the lion said, voice just a touch tender. His paw came up, tracing a soft line from the ermine's collarbone, along his neck, to finally cup his muzzle gently, pulling him ever so slightly forward while he leaned down, their whiskers almost brushing.

"You're an adorable thing aren't you?" the lion murmured, almost to himself. Neil shivered, his fur fluffing out. He should say something. Apologize for ending up backstage, for staring, for bothering the dancer. He should get back to his friends, or leave, or, or, or...

"Fyacin" the lion purred. "That's my name, if you want it."

Neil nodded. He didn't know what to say. The lion, Fyacin, was so damn close. That spicy scent was stronger. It burned in his nostrils, like incense. It was heady, intoxicating. Dimly, he realized that must be the scent of the lion's arousal. It wasn't as musky as his own- though he realized he could smell that too, that distinctive mustelidae scent of rut. It reminded him of long nights in his dorm room, exploring the vast depths of internet porn for the first time. But his imagination stubbornly refused to supply anything erotic save for embellished memories from mere moments ago. Fyacin, on that stage, beckoning to him. Stripping for him, showing him new horizons. His eyes fluttered shut as the lion's hand moved again, claws finding sensitive spots on his muzzle, his ears. He remembered the way those hands had moved on the lion's own body, how they had created trails that led to a treasure that was so mysterious then, but so obvious in hindsight.

Neil heard the lion chuckle under his breath, a chuffing, hungry sound that made him shiver. He felt so vulnerable, it almost frightened him. Why was he like this? He had been around guys before, he had.. His thoughts were scattered into disarray as the lion took one of his hands and brought it to his slender hip, letting Neil feel Fyacin's fur, soft, thinner then his own, easier to feel muscle beneath that pelt, to feel that body respond and lean into the touch.

"You shouldn't be back here" Fyacin said. Neil's eyes flicked open, muscles tensing, and then realized the lion was amused, teasing, flirting. He wasn't annoyed.

"You were watching weren't you?" he said, remembering. "Yes.. front left. I remember. I thought you were going to fall out of your seat, trying to get closer, spellbound..."

Neil gulped. He wanted to squirm away. Fyacin had been watching him the whole time? He burned with embarrassment- but his body refused to run. His paw kept moving, making a slow aimless journey through the lion's fur, up his side, to where, on a lioness, the chest would rise, where there would be breasts- but he felt only toned muscle. He felt only the rise of the lion's steady breath. Neil's tail thumped against the door as it fell from his hip. It wasn't like he had groped a lot of women, and yet he was still surprised at how different this was. Even more surprised at how much of it was the same. The passion, the rush, the intimacy. It felt fresh, almost dangerous again, with another man. He couldn't deny every touch they made was intensely sexual, not after watching Fyacin dance like he had, not after leaving the club in a mad dash, not with his cock still as hard as it had ever been.

"...But, you didn't stay that way did you?" Fyacin continued his train of thought. His tail brushed Neil's ankle, curling around it, almost possessive, rising to his thigh.

"The reveal... after that you leaned back, and I watched others. Usually when someone escapes me then it is because they see something they did not expect, that they did not want, or that they could not accept their wanting..."

Neil realized he was holding his breath. His paw had fallen of its own accord, had moved from the lion's chest, to the line of his hip. To that dip, separating midriff and groin, that border, that boundary, and he knew what lay below. He felt like it had already captured him. He knew it was only a matter of time. There was no escaping this, whatever it was. Part of him hoped it was just curiosity, but there was a void, a void where his heart had thundered moments ago that knew it was something more. Knew it as a ravenous consuming lust. He needed it, needed to know how far it could go.

".. that wasn't the case for you, was it darling?" Fyacin purred. Oh how he purred. His whole body rumbled and sang. Neil was doomed. His paw twisted, the angle awkward, fingers sliding under the too loose band of those dark shorts. He felt no other fabric, no boxers, briefs, not even panties to delay the inevitable.

"You wanted something else, didn't you? No slender lioness raising her tail for you, oh no..." that voice continued. That terrifying, inescapable voice. Fyacin had leaned forward, to give Neil a better angle, and now his breath, his fangs danced along small ears. The lion's hand slid under the ermine's shirt, up his back, claws, claws on his spine to match the electricity separating the protests of his mind against the relentless actions of his body.

He felt heat under his paw. Warmth, strength. It throbbed against him. It rose to greet his touch, hungry, ravenous. That cock wanted him as badly as he wanted it, the tool alive, firm, yet soft, silk covering red hot iron.

"Take them off." Fy said, shifting his hips so that the shorts fell another half inch. They barely clung to his slender hips. They would fall anyway- it didn't matter what Neil did. But the lion didn't care. Didn't care that this was inevitable, that the poor ermine was sliding down, down a steep cliff into a pit he hadn't known of. A terrible trap that had lay in wait for poor Neil unseen for far too long. It wasn't that he had anything against it- anything against being with another man. He had just never considered, never realized what he had been missing, never realized why it was so easy to pass on the carousing, the games other men had played, their chasing and desiring of women. He hadn't realized that he too could fall helplessly down into a pit of lust, had he only known what to look for.

"Don't you want to see it again?" he asked, already knowing the only answer Neil could give.

"It was what you were watching for before, wasn't it?" Fyacin taunted, not satisfied with that slow descent, pulling his victim deeper and deeper.

Neil obeyed the lion, obeyed his own lust. Didn't release his tenuous grasp on the lion's member, his other hand came forward, grasped the nylon of those shorts, pushed them free, let them fall to a harmless pile on the floor. Above him, the lion rumbled in satisfaction. That cock throbbed, lifted, the tip shiny, wet, slick with arousal. The spice of it surrounded Neil, bewitched him. He panted for it, couldn't take his eyes off it, even as the lion's muzzle pressed against his own. He felt the lion's rough tongue on his face, kissing the side of his cheek. Not a lover's kiss, there was no romance here. No attempt to turn Neil's gaze away from the male lust that dwelt in his paw, no attempt to share breath, to be together. No, this was a predator tasting his prey, possessive and greedy. Neil knew he would be devoured by this lion, his body consumed and used.

Oh how he wanted that. How he wanted to let go, to fall and become nothing more than an instrument of pleasure. No thoughts of impressing the lion with skill, of proving his worth. Nothing as coherent as the desire to grant another pleasure crossed his mind. No, his purpose was to feed, and to be fed upon. To serve lust, and be used. Wax held before candle flame, trembling, aching, helpless to do anything but burn. The ache of his arousal trapped in his clothes had become less sharp, but no less unyielding. It had extended to his whole body. His tail lifted, all over he ached, he yearned, to be set free in service. Every throb of the lion's hard cock spoke to him, told him that the lion would teach him what to do. Would show him how to suck cock, would use him to slake his lust.

"Kneel" Fyacin said, that command not merely spoken. The lion's grip had moved, pressing against the back of his head, his shoulder. Guiding him down. The smaller ermine was nearly covered by mane, by tail, by claws. He knelt. If there was space for anything but lion dick in his addled mind he would have noted that the carpet was soft, that he was just tall enough to reach the lion's cock on his knees. But the time for such observations was past. His paws looked small, white fur and blunt black claws a stark contrast to the hard red length standing proud out of its sheath. He wrapped fingers around it and slowly stroked. He was rewarded with a satisfied rumble, a paw rubbing his ear. The lion smelled good. Another thought Neil had never expected, that a man's arousal would be so completely, utterly intoxicating. He needed more. He knew what would come next, knew how this would go. He didn't rush, became an actor who knew all the lines of a play. He inhabited his role, letting it guide him. He leaned forward, slender muzzle brushing the lion's heavy balls, lifting them, letting them rest on his snout, feeling their weight and heat. His world narrowed to just this, his paw stroking the lion slowly as he sniffed, huffed, licked-

Fyacin tasted wonderful. He couldn't describe it, it was more than just sweat, arousal, more than the spice of musk. It was lust itself, it was freedom, it was acknowledging a need deep in him that had been buried for far too long. His tongue curled out, bright pink, cupping, lifting, worshipping. He rolled the balls on his tongue, gently taking one at a time into his muzzle. His eyes drifted up, to gaze at the lion, unseeing. It was too much, how could he appreciate it all at once? The taste of masculine need, the scent of it, the growling, purring sounds the lion made, and the sight of that cock, dripping, throbbing above him? It was too much. He couldn't process it all, had to focus on one thing at a time. Perhaps another time, perhaps then he could widen his sphere of attention, appreciate the clenching of Fyacin's abdominals, his happy snarl, his twinkling eyes, bright with lust and amusement. Perhaps another time he could feel the tail curled around his hip, the hands on his head and ears. Perhaps then he too could strip, could offer more to inflame his lover's passion. Perhaps another time, instead of a dim, dusty club hallway there would be a bed, silken sheets, the play of moonlight or dawn's kiss on bare fur...

But no. Here, now there was only cock, balls, lust, sweat, and arousal. Clear, heady drops of ambrosia marred Neil's face, leaving sticky trails in his fur. Fy's paw cupped around his chin, claws brushing his throat as he pulled him back from the worship of his heavy orbs. The lion, the dancer, said something. Neil didn't hear a word. The lion's other paw joined the ermine's at the base of that hard cock and tipped the tool down, until it met Neil's soft lips. They parted, tongue flicking out, closed. This was a tender kiss, the first meeting of cock and it's destination.

Then it pressed forward, the length's heat still surprising the poor virgin ermine. He squeaked, then groaned as it slid into his mouth. The flesh was gliding, effortlessly spreading his maw, pressing his tongue down, filling his cheeks. All too soon it slowed, tip dripping heat at the back of his mouth, just before his throat. Perhaps half of the lion's length fit inside Neil's inexperienced muzzle. Fy held him still, knowing that, for now, the poor ermine's ambition far exceeded his skill. He did not need to claim this poor creature's throat to consummate their brief meeting. It was better that this experience be as pleasant for him as possible. Later, perhaps, the ermine would learn to bend his body to serve another's unrelenting, brutal desires, as Fy had learned.

But Neil considered none of this. He did not press forward any farther than the lion had shown him he could go, instead falling into Fyacin's rhythm, letting his head bob slowly, his hand matching the tempo, slowly satisfying the lion's need. The cock was not still in his maw, it was a lusty creature. It jumped and throbbed inside his maw, the taste thicker, headier, stronger with every passing moment. Time became a strange thing. Neil could not say if it took moments, minutes or hours. Inexorably, the pace sped up, the length between his lips becoming ever so slightly longer, harder, hotter as climax approached. The lion shuddered above him, and Neil grew bold. His tongue lashed the maleness that drew pleasure from him, curling, reaching, his cheeks hollowed as he sucked. He needed it, he needed to feel what it would be like when Fyacin came, when he satisfied the beautiful creature that had enchanted him, bewitched him, consumed him, that was now using him. He wanted-

He moaned, in harmony with the lion when those claws drove into his skull, when Fyacin held the bobbing muzzle still, when the balls pulled tight, brushing Neil's chin. The heat was incredible, it splashed against the back of his throat, and he swallowed instinctively, drinking deep of male seed. He kept up at first, before he squirmed, finally remembering his own trapped, hidden cock. Something about swallowing another man's cum, about feeling that release so intimately set him off then, and his own member throbbed, his release given only by thought, never touched. It distracted him, and he spluttered, not able to swallow the next rope of cum from the cock inhabiting his maw. He pulled back, gasping. Fyacin let him, releasing another line to mark the ermine's face. A line of pearlescent lust, glittering against arctic fur. There was another, this one dripping off Neil's whiskers as he panted, trying to catch his breath. Then there were only the small twitches and throbs, aftershocks of the main event.

Yet it was enough. Neil felt warm, flushed, unsteady as Fyacin pulled him to his feet. His legs tingled- how long was he on his knees? No, his whole body was aflutter, tingling like it was charged with electricity. He expected a jolt, a shock as the lion pulled him into an affectionate hug, kissing the top of his head tenderly.

"Let's get you cleaned up." the lion chuckled, pulling the poor ermine down the hall.

"Then the fun will really start..."