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21. Nematious - Vore - Oral

Nem pushed his paws frantically in across the surface underneath him, scrambling to find any sort of purchase yet unable to do so. The further he went, the harder he pressed, the more he tried - the more he slid forward and down, leverage fading, traction slipping away just as his diminutive form slid in as well. Dense, humid heat puffed up around him, tickling the small fox's nose and flattening his short whiskers against his face; he blinked against the curls of heady steam, halfway turned his head away, tried to grapple with these wet, sticky, slimy surfaces again, and instead felt himself launched down just a little bit further - only for a sudden hump in the walls underneath him to buck out and catch him, his weight pressing gently in to the firm yet soft surface.

All around him squished that sloppy sliminess, miniscule bumps brushing along his fingerpads, drawing small lines in his fur already flattened down with dripping ooze, providing at least some sort of traction against which he could catch himself. Panting, breathing nothing but the dense, dank steam curling around within the cavernous space, already slightly lightheaded because of it, the fox wrenched his eyes shut, opened them just as forcefully, shook his head, and looked around himself.

Then the surface, the muscle, the tongue underneath him shifted and strained. It lifted up against his chest and belly, pressing its supple, silken self against his nude body; Nem gasped and shivered despite himself, still clutching onto it where he could yet now feeling it push right back against him. It pulsed and strained and shifted all on its own, dragging across the smooth fur of his chest, flattening it down against him; the broad, velvety muscle cupped around his sheath and sack and pressed up into them, nestling these sensitive bits so, so comfortably within its wet, warm embrace.

A little rumble of satisfaction echoed up from further down within his captor's maw stretching all around him: Silas was _playing_with him. Teasing him. They both knew it, too: Nem managed to finally find a handhold along the edges of the wolf-dragon's tongue, folding up around him like some kind of fleshy canoe, and grasped there to try to pull himself back out of the feral's still-open muzzle, head craned back to the sky overhead - but as soon as his fingers pressed in against the soft, wet muscle, Silas lifted his tongue up and out and nearly squished the small fox against the roof of his mouth all over again.

Nem slid down a little bit further, heat growing, humidity pressing in around him. Velvety inner cheeks stretched out to either side; full, rounded tonsils glimmered at the back of the throat, the plump, hefty uvula hung down out of his grasp before his muzzle, alternately lifting up into the cradle of rich red meat with Silas's breathing and then hanging back down, jiggling as it did so; then the throat itself, flexing, clenching, muscles tugging together, tightening, relaxing back out. Already Nem imagined he could feel the slick walls squeezing in around him, pinning his arms against his body, pushing his tail between his legs -

-curling up in between his thighs, running back and forth across his balls and sheath, the little nodules of Silas's taste buds like so many broad fingers squeezing so gently across sensitive skin and fur. Nem turned his head to the side again, once more resting it in against the bump of the tongue keeping him from falling further in: Silas purred again deep in his chest, the sound like a seismic rumble in the cavern around him, as he pushed, prodded, poked, swirled, tasted the small fox he had caught.

As if he hadn't wanted to get caught. Eyes fluttering shut from growing pleasure rather than the half-feigned panic, Nem recalled what had come just before the swirling, dank darkness had closed all around him: him lying back on the ground still fully naked, belly bared to the sky; Silas's huge, broad feral tongue coming in, scooping between his legs, mussing his fur and leaving him tingling all over; then the practiced, gentle nipping of lips and teeth across his body, the easy grasp and toss, the snap of jaws around him, the suddenly flash from daylight to darkness; then Silas had tilted his head back, squeezed the fox between his tongue and the roof of his mouth, and parted his jaws again, letting Nem see what would soon be taken from him, as he slipped further and further back towards the wolf-dragon's throat.

All around him the world shifted, tilting down a bit, resting his body - and particularly his groin - more fully along the feral's tongue. Nem gasped and turned his head the other way, lungs still full with nothing but Silas's exhaled breaths: the tip of the gargantuan tongue lifted and nudged underneath the base of his tail now as well, slick slimy saliva slopping around soft fur and sensitive skin and coating his tailhole, the surprisingly gentle blunted tip of the muscle pressing against more than pushing in, straining at his rim, teasing it inwards without actually poking in.

Nem gasped again, squeezed his arms around the root of Silas's tongue, and felt the slippery slime of saliva smear off across his chest and face, some of it folding into his own maw along with another breath exhaled all around him. By now there was little he could do other than hold on and continue grinding his hips, his simmering arousal pushing down against Silas's tongue, sheath slipping back and forth across his saliva-slickened shaft, fur of his sack matted and soaked with the same dribbling drool. He held on, bore down, and pressed himself forward, briefly lost in place - until Silas tilted his head back again, and this time with the extra leverage of his tongue pushing beneath his prey's tail, nudged Nem closer and closer to the back of his throat.

The fox couldn't hold on. Warm wetness slipped out from his grasp, and he fell - and then this time the walls of meat and muscle squeezed around him for certain, nestling him snug in damp, soaking heat. All the other sounds pinched away save for the burbling, the sputtering, the bubbling and rumbling and wet, sticky slopping.

He gasped again, took another breath this time from the heavy, stale air caught within Silas's throat - and then felt the muscles clench around him as the wolf-dragon finally swallowed.

22. Nematious - Vore - Unbirth

It was hard to keep his tail from wagging, slick stickiness coating his fur from his head to about halfway down his midsection notwithstanding. The small fox tried to shake his muzzle out but quickly found that this was quite an insurmountable task for the way his fur had matted down against itself, short whiskers plastered back across his snout. When he opened his mouth to catch his breath he felt thick strands of the stuff hanging down between his lips, draping across his tongue, filling his maw with the same spark and bite that flooded through his nostrils and into his lungs every time he took another breath.

Freed for the moment, Nem shook his paws out as well, grinned at the spatters of juices flinging free from his fingertips, and reached down to cup his for the moment mostly dry sack in one paw and his twitching, throbbing arousal in the other, taking the time to smear this slimy warmth across himself. He leaned back against the pillar behind him as he did so, luxuriating in the scent and taste, the rich, warm musk hovering around, filling his senses; he twitched, swallowed, swallowed again around the thick glob there in his throat, then swirled his tongue out across his lips to scoop off some of the gathered wetness. Already he could feel it roiling in his belly, the weight and warmth swirling around, sloshing each time he leaned to one side or moved too quickly, and the knowledge of this just further fueled his excitement. A low, shuddering sigh escaped his lips and he gave himself one more squeeze, then tilted his head up and back - and saw the source start to lower itself right back down again.

So he resumed his initial position standing up, back straight, legs and arms pressed back, against the contoured silicone of the semi-solid object behind him. Thoroughly lubricated with the much larger feral's saliva, of course with Nem standing in this same place as the huge tongue slopped and swirled around him and the toy, smearing him with drool in a layer so thick it rolled down his body and still pooled between his footpaws. Some of that heavy, cloying scent still hung around him, prevailing over the sharper, brighter musk of the feral's full canine spade plump with arousal, which - Nem's nose twitched as he watched - began to part open around the tapered tip of the toy.

Above him Silas the dragon-wolf shivered and reared his head back in a low, rumbling growl of pleasure, as the toy began to sink up into his depths again. Nem watched, enraptured, as warm pink flesh parted and pressed open around the shape of the toy against which he stood, showing the richer, warmer red meat that glistened inside; he squirmed in anticipation, took a breath, held it, swallowed - and in a few more seconds felt the thick, humid heat start to simmer down across him, a moment before its source did the same.

It tickled at his ears first, wet silken flesh pushing down on top of him, spreading easily over the shape of his head, then his angled muzzle. Even though Nem held his breath he could still smell as well as taste the feral's musk washing down through his senses, rejuvenating the moisture in his fur and searing straight through to the skin. A sweet, indulgent shiver bounced through his body as Silas squatted down over him, the lips of the wolf-dragon's spade squeezing on his nose, his lips, his chin, his throat, then down over his shoulders as well; Nem turned his head one way and then the other, deliberately squishing along Silas's inner walls, loving the way that he could feel him shudder and clench in response.

Like sweet, slick velvet the feral squeezed around him, warm, slippery, luxurious, so wet. Again and again Silas's muscles clenched around Nem's body, squeezing the breath out from his nose so that little bubbles of captured air spluttered within his depths. The fox swallowed, tasted nothing but lupine musk, risked a chance at an inhale - and felt his lungs swell out with the tepid, stale air caught in here, rich and hot and delicious. His cock throbbed in front of him, Silas now pushing down across his chest towards his belly, coming so dangerously close yet never quite making it.

Still, though, Nem thrust slightly forward, then gripped the toy behind him for support as the wolf-dragon drew himself back up. Not all the way, though: Silas lifted up onto to Nem's shoulders before his muscles tightened and he began to sink back down again, then again, and again, now riding the toy and his prey in a steady rhythm. Nem struggled to continue holding his breath amid the shifting pressure, now wrapped firm within slimy, slippery wet meat and muscle constantly running from his chest to his belly and further.

It'll take weeks to wash his scent out of my fur, he thought, taking another chance on opening his eyes. Of course all he could see was the dense, dank blackness, though occasionally when the wolf-dragon lifted up a small flash of light filtered in from down near his hips. Assuming that he'll even let me. Hell, knowing Silas, he might just want a taste of me after...

All around him there was another shudder and clench. The fox could nearly imagine the larger feral readjusting around him, hindlegs spreading out and going back, paws splaying, long tail hiking up - puckered tailhole clenching, plump spade swelling with the pleasure. Up towards Nem's shoulders, then down, and down further, and this time Silas took the toy as well as the fox down to the hilt, squishing himself down against the floor and holding there, clenching, clenching, clenching. Nem shivered and grinded his hips forward into the delicious warmth all around him, just the sensation of holding here nearly enough to push him over his own edge, as far along as the feral's rhythm had taken him.

Were he to do that, though, he knew that he ran the very real risk of fainting. So instead he gritted his teeth, swallowed again, and gasped another half-breath, entire body tingling with fervent delight as Silas began to lift back up again.

23. Iridiumx - Vore - Anal

Iri couldn't believe what he was looking at, whether this was a dream or some kind of twisted half-reality pulling from his deepest wishes, or something else entirely. All evidence of reality pressed in at his senses, though - or rather stung, smeared, clung, and otherwise stuck to him, in the form of thick globs of body-warm mucus oozing down the sides of his snout, the bittersweet, slightly tangy taste of a Pokémon's rump filling his maw, the heat sizzling back across his face, the twitching, throbbing arousal between his legs. He swallowed again, tasted the Pokémon's tailhole again, or rather the interior inch and a half of it, and shifted where he knelt, leaning to the side to look over the figure before him again.

Not just any Pokémon, but Arceus itself. Bright eyes glimmered back at him from above and in front, waiting for him to continue: the great beast's tailhole twitched and puckered again, warm pink wrinkles tightening together amid the smooth, soft, leathery grey skin of its underbelly. Iri knew that he had to obey its wishes, and as such reached forward with one hand, pressed his palm against the underside of that tail, hoisted it up, and nuzzled into place once more.

He pursed his lips, ran them gently back and forth across the wrinkled pucker, felt the slimy slickness of his own saliva there from before. The Pokémon shifted and pushed back against him, both from its legs as well as its guts: like a hungry mouth ready to dive into the kiss, those overlapping folds of skin and muscle pursed and swelled out, puttering open to show the rich, glistening red meat of its lower bowels inside, sputtering and spraying with bubbles of air caught within slick mucus. Its rim pressed open against and then within his lips, palpably stretching out from inside: the ring of muscle strained against itself, widened, pulled open - and Iri flicked his tongue open in between the folds of the Arceus's bowels, swirling around hot wet flesh, smearing off the clinging slime, letting it fill his muzzle and then swallowing it down.

The dragon shifted where he knelt and then drew back just far enough to feel the blossoming meat against his lips again, now keeping his maw closed so he could run his mouth back and forth over the interior of the Pokémon's tailhole, deliberately coating himself in the clinging warm slickness of the inside of its body. He found no difficult in pressing forward, then, and feeling the revealed flesh start to spread around his nose, then his snout as well; he took in a breath, sputtered at the way the walls of meat sucked in against his nostrils, exhaled, ballooned the lower inches of the Arceus's bowels around him, inhaled again, pressed himself in deeper, further.

Still he felt the Arceus pushing back against him, now more from inside than anything: like a dense, wet, malleable sleeve the walls of its bowels squished back along the dragon's intruding snout, rolling and folding easily over his nose, along his chin, towards the bridge of his face. Reflexively his eyes fluttered shut, but Iri forced himself to keep them open when the wet, tingling warmth began to press up around him. This was something he wanted to see, something he wanted to watch.

The meaty wrinkles of the Pokémon's tailhole rolled up along his snout, encroaching over scales, leaving greasy streaks where the Arceus paused to relax before pushing again. Iri took in another breath, this time from deeper within the guts stretched around him - and shivered as his lungs filled with the hot, humid air exhaled from before, combined with whatever had been caught within these wet, twisting tubes in the first place. He swallowed, did so again, worked to open his jaws amid the muscular ring squeezing at his chin, slopped his tongue out-

-and then with sudden speed and force the Arceus pushed back again, forcing its tailhole to stretch up against his face, around his head, and back. He had closed his eyes again, but when he opened them again this time there was nothing to see... but still the thick, sticky heat of the inside of the Pokémon's body slurped and squelched all around him, simmering strands of slime and mucus dripping down his brow, his cheek, his lips, his tongue.

Hands braced against the Pokémon's rump - the outside of it, along the Arceus's wide haunches - Iri worked to wedge himself in further. Tall ears folded back against his head as the muscles advanced, then plastered into place there with the seeping, simmering sticky wetness, sliding back, pushing along the rear curve of his head. With a firm clench the Arceus sucked him in further, squeezing up against the underside of his chin, nearly cutting off the not-so-poor dragon's breathing tighter than it already was. All around him meat and muscle trembled, squeezed, squelched, and sucked at his head now completely lodged inside of the Pokémon, these slimy wet bowels stretching like an elastic bag to encompass his presence; his ears flicked and tried to stand up, though folded back down under firmer walls above him.

All he could smell, all he could taste, all he could _hear_was the inside of this Arceus's body, the sloppy squirts and squelches and plops of internal suction tugging at his mouth, his nostrils, his ears. Iri shuddered again, hand falling away from the exterior of the Pokémon's body to work at his full arousal, made even more so from the situation. All around him these walls tensed again, then squished back... and from deep inside he felt the Arceus strain, the motion of its guts reversed as it began to push him back out.

Iri closed his eyes again but this time kept his mouth open as the Arceus's tailhole stretched in reverse, pulling against the back of his head, folding along his ears, slipping slowly forward - and then suddenly much faster, much wetter, much louder, squirting him back out with a sputtering spray of thick, discolored slickness jetting out from the puckered center not of its rim, still gaping open from the push, but rather the slimy, supple meat inside, squishing up against itself, blossoming slightly outward with the ejection of the dragon's head.

Rearing back with the force of the Pokémon's push, Iri wobbled where he knelt and then straightened up, a thick rope of slime slapping down across his lips and chin. Reflexively he slurped it off and sucked it down, then felt it creep down his throat when he swallowed. He opened his eyes, or at least tried to: for a moment they stuck together, until he reached up, wiped at them, and flung the slightly discolored slime off. Ahead of him the Arceus looked back with that same imperious expression, its tailhole for the moment still gaping open, still dripping ooze from the squished webbing of meat revealed inside.

This has to be a dream, he resolved. Once again Iri licked his lips, completely smeared in a slick layer of the stuff. It still wants more. It still wants more from me. He took in another breath, finally fresh, pure air again...

Well, nobody's gonna do it for me, I suppose. Poor, poor me.

_ _

24. Iridiumx - Vore - Oral

Iri swallowed again, mouth dry, heart pounding in his chest, ears struggling to stay up in the face of the Zacian who sat dutifully on her haunches here before him. The large Pokémon regarded him with patient yet unimpressed eyes, sharp and intelligent; he tried to wet his lips, half-tilted his head, lifted a hand, dropped it, lifted it again... and then finally ran it underneath her chin. She immediately melted into his touch, leaning forward and letting those bright eyes flutter shut; when the second hand came up she tilted her muzzle into his affection, soft fur sliding between his fingers, warm breath puffing out across his face.

The Trainer couldn't help but inhale then, tasting the slight, heady density of the slightly stale air exuded from her lungs, hot and humid as it curled out from flared nostrils. He swallowed again, let his mouth part open, took another half-step forward - as her sitting down put her face to face with him standing - and deliberately positioned himself so that each of those breaths steamed into his parted lips, tickling at the back of his throat, filling his mouth, trickling down his throat... tightening the tent in the front of his pants.

When Iri slid his hands down to the corners of the Zacian's mouth her eyes half-opened again, but she made no move to pull away. In fact she focused her gaze on him and followed through with the movement, succulent lips pulling up and back, jaws parting open to show first the deadly sharp, slightly yellow fangs inside, rooted within plump, rich pink gums, everything glistening throughout with a thick coating of sleek, supple saliva. The heat of her breath redoubled and blasted against Iri's waiting muzzle, tickling through his fur and gently stinging at his eyes.

Still his mouth fell further open just as the Zacian's did. She shifted her forepaws and lifted up a little bit, her broad, flat tongue spreading out to push up against her teeth and down in the middle like a captured wave; then it lifted in the back, pulsed forward, flopped out between her sharp lower fangs - and a shiver racked her lupine body as a yawn bubbled up from deep below and spread throughout.

Seeing his opportunity, Iri swallowed yet again and dove forward. His head fit easily inside the Pokémon's muzzle, a perfect target against which her tongue flopped forward and dragged across. He squeezed his eyes shut against the touch and then opened them immediately after, gleefully letting the thick ropes of saliva ooze down from his brow, across his cheeks, over his snout; he swallowed again, inhaled a lungful of the Pokémon's stale air from inside of her mouth, drew himself back out, then slid his hands up to her cheeks and held her in place.

Still she reciprocated his movements rather than resisted them, easily turning her head to the side, keeping her jaws open, and now deliberately lapping forward across the Trainer's face. Again and again that broad, powerful tongue streaked across Iri's muzzle, from his chin to his snout to his nose to his cheeks and eyes and back again. Already panting softly he opened his mouth again and stuck his own tongue out, inviting, welcoming her to continue forward and lick across it - and so she did.

Her breath still in his throat, Iri squirmed where he stood, trying to push himself further forward. Every time the Zacian's thick, soft canine tongue slopped across his lips he slurped back against it, doing his best to purse his lips and suckle the slickness off the strong muscle. Sensing his excitement and enjoying the contact herself, she tilted her head the other way, focused more fully in at the end of his snout there, and licked, lapped, licked again, until the shape of her tongue finally found the corners of his mouth and molded itself in.

Iri couldn't help but splutter and cough around the sudden hot, squishy-firm presence filling his maw all the way to the back of his throat, the Zacian's tongue at once pressing out against his cheeks from inside, pushing his down against his lower jaw, lifting up into the roof of his mouth. He swallowed yet again, mouth no longer dry, and let out a shuddering sigh of delight; he slurped and suckled and drew the saliva off of the Pokémon's tongue shoved into his mouth, jerked and shivered as she licked at the back of his throat again and again, drew partially back along the thick muscle so that he could feel the smooth bumpiness slip between his lips, then dove forward again until the pressure pushed into his throat once more.

Like a great, slimy serpent her tongue retreated back from his mouth - and Iri jerked with the sloppy ropes of sticky drool that flung down and smacked across his chin and chest, dumped out upon her retreat. With one hand he scooped most of that up and poured it back into his maw, all of the small, frothy bubbles spreading across his lips and over his own tongue, the superior heat of her maw and body shivering throughout his senses, coating the entire inside of his mouth, oozing down his throat when he swallowed, gathering and pooling in his belly. With that saliva-smeared hand he finally released the pressure on his twitching arousal, slickened fingers slipping across the button and zipper of his fly, and gave himself a few fast, urgent strokes, the Pokémon's drool smearing easily across him.

Still he wasn't finished, though, and as he moved towards the Zacian again he saw that she knew it. Without being told or directed she lowered her head and parted her jaws again, letting her broad tongue push forward and hang out of her maw; Iri took in another of her breaths and rested his chin upon the offered meat, and in another few seconds she had carefully clamped her jaws around him, keeping his head completely encased within. Eagerly pawing at himself, Iri took breath after breath of her stale air, the Pokémon drawing fresh air in through her nostrils and then letting it simmer back out around his head where she had caught him.

Her tongue pulsed and wriggled again, then lifted up from back. In the damp, dank darkness the Trainer saw that she had spent those last few breaths allowing the drool to well up along the back of her tongue, and now the sticky, glistening fluid rolled heavily forward towards him. He swallowed again, tasted nothing but the flat, subtle touch of her maw, and once more opened his mouth.

25. Thewonderingcanine - Micro

"Here - hey, I wanna try..."

The voice came muted to Smack through the thick, damp walls around him, warm slickness squishing up underneath his body, mashing him against the firm, dribbling roof, pressing him into the crannies in between huge curved solid masses. A great, rumbling vibration shuddered through the cavernous space, ringing his ears.

"Come on! You've had him for a while. Let me try."

Then suddenly bright light seared into the space as the mouth around him opened, and another wave of alcohol-heavy breath blasted out from behind. He swallowed and took a breath of whatever fresh air might have curled its way in, the tiny foxwolf's head swimming from the lack of oxygen - or, rather, the abundance of stale air dragged up from his current captor's lungs. Slick with saliva, fur matted and smeared, dazed and dizzy, he had no chance to right himself before a forefinger and thumb reached in, wrapped around his chest, and plucked him out into the air.

Once there he swung far, far above the ground, looking around at all of these faces grinning up at him. Barely half an hour ago he had been the same size as them, sitting along the couch and chatting amicably while drinking, and then... a surge of vertigo, a sense of dizziness, an odd breathlessness, and the next time he opened his eyes he was wedged halfway down into the crack between the cushions like a piece of the nachos that had been prepared for the party.

And then naturally, being suddenly about as tall as someone's thumb amid a group of definitely drunk friends who had retained their original size, Smack found himself passed around like some kind of party favor. It had stayed simple at first, sitting him on their shoulders, having others guess which palm he was hidden in... and then one of them had dunked him in their drink and slurped it off of him.

His pants had gone with the alcohol, and then everyone noticed how much he enjoyed being treated as such. So the tall, broad-shouldered wolfess had hopped up onto one of the stools, called attention over to herself, and slid her panties down her sleek, shapely legs... and Smack had barely had time to pull in a breath before he felt himself smushed back-first up against and then inside her plump, protruding spade, the warm walls of slick flesh squeezing against him from behind, then slurping up around his diminutive body. He had tried to pull himself out, but tiny fingers had only smeared and streaked wetly across her inner walls, making her shiver and squirm and clench even further around him; it took one of the others going down on her, broad tongue curling out inside of her and fishing the foxwolf out, to pull him free.

And then he found himself tossed around inside of their mouth like a breath mint, to then be exchanged into the one from which he had just been pulled amid a deep, wet, hungry kiss, during which he thought he was about to be swallowed on four separate occasions. Dazed, Smack reached up to wipe some of the wetness off his mouth, then realized that he had just made it worse with similar soaked fur.

"Oh, man." The same voice, now much clearer, came from somewhere off to his left. He swung his head and focused his gaze, seeing another fox there. "He's fucking sopping wet."

"Of course he is," said the one whose mouth he had just come from. Their breath puffed against his naked back, hot and damp. "You know I'm a messy eater."

"Here - come on, I'll..." The fox stepped forward, crouched down, and turned his muzzle upward, then wobbled and had to find new footing. "Ooh. Ahah. A li'l... li'l drunk."

"Yeah. No shit." The paw holding him faltered a bit; Smack flailed in the air. "Wow. You're right. I did soak him. Are you sure you-"

"Ah-hah." The fox stretched his mouth open and pointed into it. "Righ' heah. Awa."

"Sure. If you say so." Sudden lurching freefall - cushioned by a thick, wet slap as the foxwolf smacked against the larger vulpine's tongue, pressing up around him like an extra- soft mattress. Reflexively the fox swallowed, though the back of his tongue lifted to keep his new toy from slipping away; his lips flashed shut for a moment, then opened again, and Smack felt himself tossed and tumbled around his powerful tongue. "But if you wanted me to spit in your mouth, you coulda just asked."

"Ah-" Then the light returned, the fox opening his mouth again. Smack squirmed around to look outside, and saw the other's grinning muzzle. "Ah-hah. Ah-hah." At the edge of the fox's parted lips he saw the same pointing finger again - then his focus shifted again as the other rolled their eyes, pursed their lips, took a moment to well up their load... and leaned in to shoot it into the fox's mouth, and all across Smack's entire body.

Hot, wet, sticky, slimy, he felt the force of the impact and tasted as well as smelled the high, stale, slightly dizzying musk of drunken saliva. Try as he might to wipe it out of his fur, all Smack succeeded in doing was smear it around; the fox closed his mouth around him, swirled his tongue all around him, and coated him even further, promptly eliminating his tenuous grasp on his sense of direction. Vaguely he felt the fox straighten up, shake himself out, swallow again, and then lurch drunkenly around the room, but Smack's sense of scale had already been mutilated by his change in stature, so it wasn't until he got another feeling of freefall that he had any idea what was happening.

Then the fox's mouth opened again, and fresh, cool air rushed in - along with something else, something large, dense, warm, slightly slick... and twitching with a steady pulse. It pressed in further, squeezing Smack up against the inside of the fox's cheek, the larger vulpine's tongue cupping around the mass, whatever it was - and Smack held on as it was drawn back out, or as the fox bobbed his head back.

Then light again. Smack shook his head, opened his eyes, looked around, and winced at the laughter that issued out so close to him. He looked up at the fox, up in the other direction, then down again, and found himself sprawled out along the side of... someone's erection, he couldn't tell from here. Some dog, or wolf; he turned his head, saw the damp, wet lip of their sheath, then blinked as another finger came in to slide beneath the supple skin and tug it gently open. Thick strands of sticky wetness hung between the inner layers and the firm meat in between.

"Now that you've gotten him all lubed up," said yet another new voice, "I think I've got somewhere we can put him."