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There were few backdrops as majestic as the sky-reaching crags of the Rocky Mountains: truth be told, it didn't matter what the occasion was.

Though Nbowa was fortune enough to have performed a myriad of activities in their shadows, this was the first time that he could recall being invited to a picnic in such a place, and for the view alone, he wasn't going to complain about spending his afternoon in such a way.

Soothing, spring air was already wicking the little bit of sweat that had gathered on his brow from hiking up out of the valley and into a small clearing, and even if he'd needed a moment to catch his breath, he would have thought it well worth it to set up such a gorgeous lookout point.

With just one sip of the proverbial juice, the lion was quick to agree that it was worth the squeeze.

"Sounds like you're already breathing a little heavy. Not used to being this high up, are you?"

The one who invited Nbowa along knew what kind of a risk he was taking by pushing the lion's buttons...to that end, there were few people who knew that risk better than Rivard, and yet, the otter was still standing the clearing with a wide, teasing grin on his face, as if he was trying to get under the feline's skin.

Sooner or later, he was going to succeed, but Nbowa had promised to take him up on his invitation in earnest...and that meant grabbing the corners of a checkered blanket, instead of wrapping his paws around the otter's neck.

"When you said we had to go on a little hike to get to your favorite spot, I thought you meant a little hike," Nbowa emphasized. "I dunno what you consider a short distance, but three miles to get out here isn't exactly a walk in the park, y'know."

"And yet, I was the one struggling to keep up with your pace," Rivard noted. "I just hope you didn't completely wipe yourself out on the way here..."

Nbowa snickered. "Not even gonna pretend that you don't have an ulterior motive for bringing me out here?"

Rivard's invitation was always two-faced: he knew that Nbowa would read between the lines, and for his part, all he had to do was find a park that didn't have such frequent visitors...and there were plenty of trails in the mountains above and the valleys below that would eat up the tourists for them.

The middle ground, closer to the bench, was a little less populated, and plenty of old trails that had fallen into disrepair were waiting to be blazed anew, complete with clearings that proudly boasted the famous snowcaps in the background, as if Mother Nature herself was posing for a postcard.

"I've got nothing to hide," Rivard claimed, as he pulled a pair of drinks from the basket that they'd lugged all the way up the trail. "Arnold Palmer?"

The otter packed himself an IPA, and anyone who knew him wouldn't have been surprised to see him gleefully chugging the cold beer, but even when Nbowa took the pre-mixed can of lemonade and iced tea, he didn't look satisfied with Rivard's answer.

To his own fault, he'd never bothered to check if there was anything to eat in the basket, and he couldn't deny feeling a hung pang when he cracked open the can and took a sip, but he was afraid of what he might find if he ended up looking for a meal...

...until he noticed the otter standing right in the middle of the spread blanket, his intentions entirely obvious in the pose that he took.

"Don't suppose you brought anything to eat, did you?" Nbowa finally asked, wanting to give Rivard a chance to explain himself before he blazed a logical trail.

The otter was practically beaming as he took another long swig of his drink. "Yeah...guess I kinda forgot to pack any food," he admitted, acting as if that was no big deal when he was trapped in the mountains with a hungry, frustrated carnivore. "Sorry about that. We might as well turn right back around and go get something to eat, huh?"

"...If you want me to beat your ass in the middle of the woods, you don't have to give me all this extra motivation, you know. You just have to ask."

The beer was smacked out of Rivard's palm, and as he looked at his empty digits, he came to the quick realization that he may have pushed the lion a little too far...and he'd only just started pushing.

"I never said t-

"You didn't have to say anything," Nbowa claimed. "Inviting me out for a picnic in a place that you know no one ever goes to? Loading me up with whatever drinks you could find along the way? I'd have to be blind not to see what you were up to..."

A sheepish grin was going to be wiped off his face soon enough, but for a moment, Rivard was wearing it with the tiniest bit of inward pride; he didn't think they were even going to make it to the clearing before the lion had his way with him.

Getting this far in one piece was something of an accomplishment.

"I'm still not really sure what you're talking about," Rivard tried to claim, knowing that the lion had him all figured out. "What's so wrong with inviting a friend to come out and enjoy one of the favorite spots of the locals?"

"What locals?"

They both paused, and in that moment, the silence was only broken by the quietest rustling: even the breeze that danced and flickers through the trees didn't want to give Rivard's statement any credit.

"It'd...normally be a lot busier?"

Rivard's lack of confidence in his own voice was perhaps the final nail in the coffin on his façade, but if he had a chance to be honest, it would have come at the expense of force...and he would have been forced to admit that he was hoping that his plan would fall apart at the seams.

The end result wasn't going to be any different, but Rivard knew that how they got to the conclusion was the only thing he'd have a chance to control before the lion took hold of the reins and kept them for the rest of the afternoon.

"You say that like I didn't notice how thick the grass was...how many roots were poking up from the pathway...how many places the guard rails were completely rotted away and the streams had eroded through the footholds..."

"Sounds like y-you had a hell of a time getting up here," Rivard pointed out, adding another nail to the proverbial coffin for good measure. "All the other locals have had an easy time with it!"

Nbowa wasn't past the point of believing that Rivard had picked this place because others were lucky enough to put the otter in his place using the natural privacy of the clearing.

What he couldn't believe was how bold the otter was being; clearly, they'd gone too long between their recent visits, and a forceful paw landing on Rivard's shoulder was less a friendly touch, and more a heavy, obvious suggestion.

"I had a very easy time with it, but you've been sucking air and IPAs all day," Nbowa pointed out. "You should probably have something a little more hydrating than that."

Rivard could have put up more of a fight against the press of the lion's paws, but he was so eager to be forced to the ground that he dropped before Nbowa had to put any real effort into it.

He still looked the part, as genuine nerves took hold of his smile and forced it to tremble, but he was as eager as he'd ever been when Nbowa's other paw unzipped the front of his hiking shorts.

"Thanks for the Arnold Palmer, by the way," Nbowa finally gave his appreciation for the drink. "I'm afraid all I've got is lemonade."

It was foolish for Rivard to open his mouth: he intended to ask what the lion meant, but that was all part of the act for him...

...He was utterly shameless in his pursuit of a drink that was sweeter than any lemonade he'd ever tried, and the strange cocktail of drinks that Nbowa had consumed on his way into the clearing made for an interesting first impression when the golden trickle spilled over Rivard's tongue.

From there, the otter thought he had a choice in the matter, being able to lean back on his knees and simply enjoy the lazy spill of the lion's relief, but for making himself such a willing vector, he should have known better than to expect anything leisurely of Nbowa.

He thought, perhaps, that the lion was losing his touch, but he was just keeping his friend off balance, and the sudden reach and tight, ferocious grip of paws around Rivard's skull made it clear that he hadn't missed a beat since their last encounter.

Keeping his maw open saved him the embarrassment of having his lips bruised by the hammering of a cock against them, but his throat ended up paying the price, instead: Nbowa's hips leaned forth, easing his slowly growing member into the warm confines of an eager maw, all while his urine continued to pour over the back of the otter's tongue.

Experiencing the unique flavors at the front and the back of his long, pink muscle, Rivard eagerly gulped down every drop; no matter how forceful Nbowa was about the act, there was little he could to take away any enjoyment...even digging his claws into the tender, sensitive flesh of the otter's scalp wasn't enough to change the tone in his quiet, muffled groans of shameless delight.

Something about the experience, just for that reason, was truly wholesome...but Nbowa wasn't going to stop there, and for his own twisted desires, Rivard wouldn't have wanted him to.

"Aren't you supposed to pace yourself a little bit?" Nbowa asked, pretending that anything they were doing could have any purpose other than their own sensual fulfillment. "Gonna get a cramp if you chug down the whole thing at once, boy..."

If he wasn't so busy being pulled further and further onto the lion's impressive girth, Rivard would have gladly sung the praises of the flavor of those juices; despite Nbowa's warning, he continued to let the otter drink his fill, so long as he kept his mouth wrapped around the bulk of the feline tool.

The only real punishment the lion could come up with was a delay, and though it cost him his own pleasures in life, he held the otter by the ear and yanked him back from the source of the golden delight, making sure that a healthy stream continued to flow over the otter's shirt.

A small puddle was gathering on the front of Rivard's shorts by the time Nbowa decided to curtail his end of the experience, but there was no embarrassment in the otter for being soaked with such a lewd substance...and no hiding the throb of his own length in his shorts as he reveled in being painted with the feline's scent.

"Knew I couldn't trust you not to drink it all at once," Nbowa muttered, taking that moment to catch his breath after the brief, but thorough pounding of the otter's face. "I if I let you to your own devices, you'd probably have started choking on it..."

Rivard's lower lip quivered with an innocence he didn't genuinely possess, but he didn't get the chance to defend his character as the lion carried on: "Actually, a slut like you would never have problem with an ordinary load...only way you would have choked is if I made you do it."

That might have been closer to the truth, but Rivard was still playing innocent for as long as he could get away with it.

Whether it counted any longer when he was visibly erect from being soaked with another man's piss, of course, was a point of contention that he would have lost every single time.

"If I pour the rest of it in your ass, though...at least you can't drink it too quickly."

Nbowa's suggestions always toed a fine line of going way too far and stopping just at the edge of the same, but Rivard was like the perfect test subject for those ideas. Over the years, the otter discovered that he had very few limits of what he could handle, and in most cases, the more aggressive and assertive the approach taken with him, the better.

He wasn't entirely sure about the idea of having someone literally pee inside of him, but if Nbowa told him to strip down his shorts and assume the position, he would have done it without hesitation.

Instead, the lion did him one better and pushed him flat onto his back, rolling him from his knees and leaving the wind knocked from his body as he hit the ground hard. The otter didn't even have a chance to pull another, proper breath before he was pounced by the eager lion, and legs that rolled up from the force of the shove were kept in place as claws sunk into the waistline of the otter's shorts.

"Of course, I bet you've really gotta go, too, the way you've been pounding down those IPAs...try not to spill any on the blanket, okay? We've gotta carry that thing back, after all."

Rivard blinked and realized he was staring at a brilliant, blue sky.

Blinking again, he felt his knees pressing into the ground on either side of his skull, with the slack of his piss-soaked shorts hanging just over his forehead; he didn't even notice the lion tugging them down thanks to a quick and talented hand, and only then did he realize just how exposed he truly was.

In the middle of the unique view was the flesh of his own cock, twitching with arousal and spilling an errant drop or two of his own piss between his eyes...being folded up like a lawn chair was putting plenty of undue pressure on his bladder, and a thumb against his warm, gaping pucker was making it that much harder to keep from peeing in his own face.

That was the endgame, no matter how long he tried to put it off...but he was going to tell himself that he tried, no matter how vain his attempts would prove to be.

"Nothing else to say, Rivvy? No clever little quip to try and rile me up even more?"

Nbowa saw through the games the otter had been playing from the very start, but he was a fan of letting Rivard get himself into all kinds of trouble, especially when he was the one with the right to divvy out the punishment.

Even before his cock was brushing against the subtle gape of the otter's tailhole, the lion was enjoying himself more than he'd let on...and there was no mincing the meaning behind his gritted fangs and eager, devious smirk.

"Or are you just keeping your mouth shut so you don't have to drink all that beer twice?"

It was Rivard's own fault that the compression was giving him such a hard time, and his only gamble left was that the weight of the lion's cock against his back entrance would be enough to distract his body and keep him from spilling over...

...But even before he had a chance to think about how silly that was, a small stream was already pouring down over his own neck.

"Couldn't even make it a single thrust before you started making a mess of yourself...it's like you wanted an excuse to pee on yourself."

Nbowa eased the first couple inches of his warm, pulsing flesh into the waiting pucker of his submissive friend, keeping him pinned into the blanket and using the tension in the otter's thighs as a perfect point of purchase: thick paws were able to rest there and press against the recoiling elasticity of the otter's compressed body.

His hips bounced as a consequence of the same, and true to his feline nature, Nbowa was entirely leisurely about his approach, allowing Rivard's own compressed figure to do a good portion of the work.

"You know, if you keep letting it spill onto the blanket, I'm just gonna make you wear it on the way back..."

Needing no further encouragement to act accordingly, Rivard opened his maw wide and let out an impassioned groan: folded back onto himself as he was, it was difficult to draw a breath and that much harder to let out a sound that properly reflected how he felt...but for the lion, he'd give whatever effort he could manage.

That meant a heightened bliss for Nbowa, as Rivard seized up inside and tried to force the stream of his own urine to push further and further up his neck, until it was spitting at the underside of his chin and soaking his whiskers.

"Something the matter, Rivvy? Kind of a weak stream, isn't it...?"

Nbowa was plenty familiar with what it took to create an internal push: for him, this was all part of the fun, as his cock eased further and further into the otter's asshole, soaking up more of the unique pleasure that could only be had by Rivard's own struggles.

The harder the otter clenched and pushed, the deeper Nbowa rolled forth on his knees, until his sack slapped against Rivard's ass with a quiet, satisfying pap...but impact didn't quite do enough to land the stream in the open maw of the mustelid.

Instead, his trembling form felt drops spilling on either side of his face and splashing into his cheeks as he found the proper strength, but utterly lost control of his accuracy.

"Fucking hell...n-now you're getting it everywhere , dude! Swear, I can't even take you to the park without you making a h-huge fucking mess of everything..."

There were plenty of people who would have thrown a fit about receiving such a treatment, but it didn't matter what the concerned expression on Rivard's face was saying, and any words he could have found in that moment wouldn't have been able to tell a convincing story.

Judging by just how firm the otter's cock was, and how eagerly his inner muscles were gripping around the invading flesh of the lion, Nbowa had plenty of evidence that Rivard was enjoying himself even more than he was...and whether that was the case or not, Rivard knew better than to think that Nbowa would slow down.

He was actually counting on the lion putting a little more effort into the act, but thus far, he was lazily rolling forth, at the very most.

"You almost done, Rivvy?"

Much to his surprise, the otter shook his head: he'd consumed a ton of alcohol that afternoon already, but it wasn't the potency of the beer that was the greater matter.

It was the sheer volume, and for his part, Nbowa didn't want to start hammering too hard if there was a risk of the mess getting back on his own fur; what was yet to be seen was how much patience he really had for the otter's slow, easy trickle onto himself.

He didn't mind if Rivard milked a little pleasure from the act...that was inevitable, but for the otter to enjoy himself more than he was...

...That couldn't be allowed.

"Dragging things out as much as you can," Nbowa's teasing tone shifted to a low, heavy growl as he shifted his knees a little further apart, giving himself a better platform to push from. "I should have known you were enjoying this too much...f-fucking otter..."

Even though his lower lip was hanging open with quiet, panting bliss, there was the slightest curl to his muzzle; Rivard had been caught in the act yet again, but this time, he was doing more than planting the seeds of a pleasurable afternoon.

He was trying to make his enjoyment the greater focus of the act, and that, Nbowa simply wouldn't abide.

"Push all of it out," Nbowa ordered, the shift in his tone proving so strong that a full jet of piss landed just short of hitting Rivard in the eyes. "Every last fucking drop...and drink as much as you can, because we're gonna work up one hell of a thirst, boy..."

Toes were already curling at the end of twitching paws, but Nbowa knew there was no way he could reach the height of his pace without the otter eeking a little more bliss from the act.

It was a small price to pay for throwing the full weight of his body into his hips and pummeling the otter into the ground with a series of brutal, rapid thrusts...but watching Rivard struggle and gasp for air as his own mess splashed across his face and soaked down the sides of his neck was well worth the price of the otter nearing his climax.

If Nbowa was able to reach his own first, he'd make damn sure that Rivard didn't reach his own, but then, that was the most difficult thing about dominating someone like him: no matter which course of action the lion took, Rivard was sure to find at least a little pleasure in it.

Even the slapping, dropping weight of the lion's sack, coming down harshly against the curve of Rivard's ass, was a source of subtle, but entirely real bliss...and if Nbowa had no choice but to share it, he was willing to; through gritting fangs and a narrowed glare, but all the same, he was more than willing.

"Think you're getting ready to paint yourself with something else?" Nbowa asked, keeping the quiet, panting pace of his breath as far under wraps as he could: he didn't want to give Rivard any clues to when his cock would leak something thicker and warmer into the waiting backside of the pinned mustelid. "You've gotta be draining yourself dry by now..."

A free paw came down and slapped gently against the base of the otter's sack, and like a light switch, it turned the last dribbling of piss completely off, leaving the last drops to spill over Rivard's tummy.

There was no part of the otter that had been spared from the spreading mess, and the mingled scents of his own juices and the impressive, alluring scent of the lion left him in a dreamy, floating state as his asshole was spread wider and wider, ravaged by the full girth of the feline cock.

It wasn't an ordinary picnic by any stretch of the imagination, but if this experience redefined what the word meant to Rivard...he would be entirely content with that.

"And just like that, you're running on empty," Nbowa taunted. "Guess I'd better give you a little more fuel..."

As if there weren't enough messes for Rivard to worry about, he was going to have to mitigate one more before they made their way back down from the clearing: the lion's words acted as the only warning for the otter before a full, thick gush of cum spilled into his tight, clenching backside.

He was on the verge of emulating that act, but it was only when Nbowa was able to press his paw against the underside of Rivard's shaft that he was able to get off, and once more, a lengthy streak of juice leapt from the tip of his manhood and sprayed across his muzzle, until his face was painted anew, this time with a slick, milky load that would be even harder to hide.

"Can't wait to hear you bitching," Nbowa paused, sucking in a harsh, pleasured gasp as he utterly _ruined_the otter's backside, until his own ejaculate was splashing back out of a stretched, gaping tailhole. "About how it's...r-running down your thighs the whole way back to the car..."

Sure enough, Rivard was looking forward to the same thing...but before they made it back down the trail, they'd definitely need to stop for another drink break.