FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Pridesire indulging

It was but a moment of indulgence, I assure you

Kinktober 23: Biting - Uniform

“It’s even softer when you run your hands in it.”

“It’s-!” A cough. “You can continue.”

“Aww, sir. Is it sensitive here?”

“It is. Very much. But you can continue.”

“Are you purring?”

It wasn’t a typical day in the barracks, even though the term barracks hardly fitted a run-down house that’d been turned into a forward post. Even so, rebellions rarely adhered to semantics and formalities. The barracks, or forward post, reeked of a musty, swamp-like odor. In contrast, or in an attempt to fight, the smell of ale permeated the corner where they’d put the beds.

Discarded mugs and emptied kegs formed a sort of circle, mired by the discarded uniforms of the rebellion. Again, more like hastily stitched-together clothes with the emblem of the falconer’s rebellion.

Pants and vests had been thrown aside, so much the same for the wrinkled shirts, until there was only one bearing his clothes from the pile of three fighters still locked there.

By virtue of his nature, the Nama was the most impressive. Dark silver fur formed the coat covering his strapping body, the same as for his flowing mane.

And it was through the latter that his subordinates were running their fingers through, half-way tangling, half-way brushing that long mane.

The purrs that came forth were not desired, though it was something Teor had difficulty fighting against. Drunkenness made those instincts bubble up. Much like that appreciation for cuddling, of having someone else’s warm body pressed against his, and much more.

Teor’s tail smacked against their sides, practically with a mind of its own, as it smacked the Barbarian’s legs. Fair skin, a partly shaved head, braided blond hair, and a long beard, he looked like he hailed from the wilds.

And such was his wild way of running his hand through Teor’s exposed chest, passing a hand on the sides, and pushing more for that emblazoned shirt to be set aside, pushed away.

The second wasn’t much different.

The Orc, bearded and barrel-chested, had been an innkeeper in a previous life. Though now, the calloused and rugged fingers are doing another kind of work rather than pouring ale and checking on his patrons’ well-being.

In that situation, two rugged fighters had had their fair share of experience during the rebellion. Teor could count on them, which made it stranger when they were lying amidst the taken sheets, empty bottles, and remnants of clothes, cuddling together.

Not Teor’s type of relaxation.

Without a doubt, he grabbed one of the nearby mugs, shook it, and took down the gulp that remained. It was stale and lukewarm, but better than nothing.

“You never told us about your past experiences.”

“I don’t,” curtly answered Teor to the Barbarian.

“Have you had any partner doing this to you?”

“No.”

“No lovebird waiting for you at home?”

Teor laughed, a guffaw that shook his entire body. His broad chest lifted, almost pressing against the two while they continued to be handsy. But the drunkenness made the touch all the more… palatable.

It wasn’t so bad.

“No. I have no one. I had no one, either. I did not search for companionship.”

“What about now?”

“I might reconsider if… You help me with something.”

“What is it?” asked the Orc.

“I might… Have a tangle down there,” answered Teor, feeling playful when his massive paw grabbed the Orc’s green hand and put it on his abdominal waist. “Here.”

“Here?” answered the Orc, but his fingers traced through the fur. The little finger was practically a breath away from touching the belt, the last rampart to Teor’s modesty. But the palm circled on the fur, on the skin, on the tense muscles.

There was no tangle, if not of stress and knots that vanished the moment that hand stroked his belly. More purring.

“Relaxed like that, you’re looking like a big cat,” said the Barbarian, chuckling and approaching his lips to Teor’s chest, blowing on it.

“I am… Not a big cat.”

“You might as well. When we cover you with attention.”

To complete his words, the barbarian’s lips pressed closer, ignoring the puffy fur and passing a finger to a spot. He uncovered a single spot by ‘brushing’ the coat aside to reveal it. One pink nub, flesh and skin divulged.

The flesh was not erect or tempted, but with a craned neck, the Barbarian picked the nub between his teeth and… Bit.

He bit Teor’s nipples, though not with the expected strength. No, the bite was soft, a gentle squeeze on the nub that revealed itself sensitive… And prone to provide a tickling feeling through the large Nama’s body.

In return, the human continued to pass his hands through the pectoral fluff while blowing on the fur.

“He is purring harder.”

“I do not,” answered Teor. But the moment he stopped speaking, his purring resumed. Calm, soothing, and indeed driven by the teeth gnawing gently on the skin after the barbarian went to another spot.

“He never received any attention,” laughed the Orc, his stroking gentle but firm. No… Completed by a hand passing inside Teor’s thighs, on the slack, to give the muscles a firm squeeze.

Without a doubt, the Orc had noticed the bulge in the Nama’s pants. The erection that fought against the fabric, that stretched it… That forced the leather to bulge.

But the two were just as erect, and none of them had any fabric to cover their modesty. They were needy, just as he was, but they were not… Rushing. They seemed far too tempted to explore Teor’s fur-covered body.

“I might purr,” conceded the Nama.

“You might,” confirmed the Barbarian with a chuckle, passing on another spot and… Biting the pecs. The amount of fur forced him to take it slow. But each time his teeth scraped the skin or dug into it, Teor could feel the rush of desire running through his heart and… Down his loins.

The bite marks left behind were bright red and throbbing, but they easily vanished under the scruff while the Barbarian went to another spot, another corner untouched and unbitten, unattended.

Sometimes, too, he wasn’t biting but merely sucking on the flesh. The result was the same when the hickeys could be noticed in the shape of large rings with some spitting from the human before the coat hid it all.

But the throbs, the sensations, the excitement, they remained.

They remained and grew stronger inside Teor’s pants, forming a damp spot that the Orc barely brushed. For a few seconds, when that wrist was almost pressed against Teor’s hard and bulging cock, Teor almost wished for that big hand to grip his erection.

He almost wished for that damn belt to be off, for the symbol of the rebellion to be thrown aside, much like the other clothes, and for him to get wild. To unleash the pent-up desires he’d been experiencing. The pent-up desires that the two were unleashing through their touches, their lips, and their affection, they were delivering onto his body.

His mind was racing much like his heart, his breathing heavy. His chest lifted; his pectorals practically pushed against the Barbarian’s lips and forced him to withdraw, but for a second before he went back in.

All the same time, Teor’s tail continued to flail and hit the lovebirds’ sides, smacking them like would a whip.

Yet, they were not commenting or grunting about it.

They remained just as motivated, just like when the Barbarian’s lips descended along the abdominal waist, delivering a slew of bite marks underneath the fur. At the same time, the Orc’s hands ran along the thighs. On the outside, above, inside… Each time they went inside, it was to graze Teor’s groin with more intensity. To have him feel the heat coming from the Orc’s palm, inviting him for more.

“Enough,” growled the Nama.

The eyes and mouths raised, the gazes went to Teor, who grabbed the two by the head. His massive paws practically encompassed their heads while he pushed them to look at his groin. At his bulging erection, tense underneath the fabric.

And then, at the belt that was the unique wall between all.

“Fine. You won. You can unleash the beast.”

“Unleash the beast? Isn’t it too presumptuous?” asked the Orc, though his hands were the ones undoing the buckle, slipping the leather belt away.

“Presumptuous? You compared me to a cat,” scoffed Teor, puffing up his chest to make himself look bigger for a moment. Even his mane and scruff seemed to follow as his eyes locked on the Barbarian, who pushed the leather pants aside to fish out what was inside.

“You compared me to a kitty cat. I should fix this assumption,” he said.

And again, his paws locked on the two’s napes, guiding him down. Down to his erection, throbbing, raging, and free. The pink flesh practically formed a pillar between the two, motivated by the bites and licks he’d received, by the caresses he’d been the subject of.

A pillar that spurted precum onto their faces when he forced them close to.

“Worship Pridesire.”