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Ember felt the eyes on him like a physical presence. Of course, he always felt eyes on him, and if he didn't, something was wrong. He wasn't smug or anything like that, but he knew he drew the desire of many men. That was why he spent his free time at clubs and bars, relying on his looks to earn him his favorite thing in the world: other men. He didn't need to be smug or conceited with himself to enjoy the feel of a strong set of paws caressing his figure, to feel fingers and tongues and other things on and inside of him; it was a natural desire, and one he was quite naturally fit to achieve with ease. No shame in using what you've been given... And no sense in letting it go to waste. Why shouldn't I share myself? Case in point, as he stood third in line from the door to the club, blocked by a man whose sole duty was to guard the door and only let in the coolest of the cool, the cutest of the cute, and richest of the rich, he knew he'd be let in, but he didn't confuse it with conceit. "Heh, alright, in order: beat it, get lost, and come in," said the bouncer, dismissing the two hopefuls in front and ushering Ember inside. "Thanks," he chirped to the bouncer, trotting his way inside.

Already inside and settled in, a beautiful creature named Desmond sat pretty on the barstool. His ears flicked now and again to the tune of the music, and the left one was covered in hardware, with a rainbow ladder of rings crawling up the outer rim. He was dressed like any other man in that bar - a fishnet shirt and snug denim blue jeans - but his distinction was that he was pretty. Not just guy-pretty, but genuinely beautiful. Straight men would dump their girlfriends just to look at his face. Rumors persisted that he had an insurance policy for his hair alone, and a sub-policy for the braid. In one of his black, pink-padded paw hands, he held a martini glass, and he sipped it with a refined elegance. On another night, he may have gone with any one of the top-class studs who offered him companionship, drinks, and cock, but not that night; Desmond wanted be on top that night. The fox-raccoon was a notorious switch and, when the planets were aligned in just the right way, he could crack the whip like no other. All he was waiting for was that night's bitch, and on that particular evening, the bitch found him.

Ember gingerly took a stool adjacent to Desmond. He smiled at the fox, meeting his curious gaze. "Hi there," he said in just about the most benign voice Desmond had ever heard. The foxcoon could tell everything he needed to know from somebody's tone; the subtleties said a lot, and Ember's reserved greeting, devoid of any trace of sexuality or condescension in a place that thrived on those concepts, painted him as a bottom buttbitch in Desmond's eyes. "Hi yourself," Desmond shot back, but his own voice was a sultry purr, a sound that conveyed interest to the cute wolf. It wasn't lost on Ember, but he lacked the drive to even strike up small-talk with the fox, for it was in his nature to receive, never give, in more ways than one. Desmond sipped his martini, training his eyes on the grey lupine, taking in his appearance. Not a twink like Desmond, he was athletic, with the sharp lines and clear tone of somebody who kept in shape but didn't do it religiously. An attractive creature, to put it simply, and the way he held himself was exactly what Desmond wanted that night. Hello, bitch. "What's your name?" asked the foxcoon, punctuating his query with a sip. Ember first looked at the fox from the side, then turned his head, and finally his body on the stool. "Ember," said the wolf, offering the impassive fox a smile, hoping it might diffuse those frigid eyes, but it didn't, and Ember somehow wasn't surprised. "Ember, huh? You here with anyone?"

The wolf shook his head, inexplicably tongue-tied more than normal around the foxcoon. What was the word he wanted to use to describe his eyes? Cunning. An evil looking fox, but that demeanor had already begun to lure him in. Ember would obey the twink of a fox. "No... No, I'm not with anyone at all," he said slowly, his tail flicking behind him. Desmond smiled, but uttered not a word. He finished his martini then set down the glass, unfolding his legs, allowing Ember to see just how long and slender they were, legs any self-respecting vain bitch would kill to have, terminating in pink-padded digitigrade feet, with the same black fur as his hand paws and the raccoon accents elsewhere on his body. Ember blushed when he took in the fox's whole body, enamored by the feminine curves. Ordinarily, he wouldn't have had much interest in such a sissy, but it was the eyes, the attitude, the promise that Desmond most certainly wasn't a bend over bitch like himself. "You look... Really nice," Ember blurted out, already picturing himself under the fox with a lewd, lopsided smile and half-lidded eyes. "I know," said Desmond without a hint of conceit, only a matter-of-fact clarity. "You can buy me a drink." The wolf did as he was told, not hoping it would gain favor with Desmond, but simply because he was under the vulpine's spell. Desmond triumphantly sipped his new martini, looking down at Ember from his proverbial pedestal. "You know something, Ember? I'm going to head to the bathroom." Desmond set down the martini he'd only sipped from, carelessly discarding the eight dollar drink he ordered the wolf pay for. "And you'll follow me."

The restroom was empty and, for a club bathroom, quite clean. "I might fuck you," Desmond casually said, unzipping his fly. "Maybe I'll let you lick my asshole, too. You look like you might be a good bitch." Ember expected the fox to smirk, but he didn't. His face was deathly serious, and in a way, that casual air made Desmond so much more irresistible. "First, I gotta take care of something," the foxcoon said, stepping closer to the urinal, but, with a supremely bright blush on his cheeks, Ember forced himself between Desmond and the wall, then he knelt, his mouth wide, his pretty brown eyes even more broad than that, gazing up at Desmond with a supremely hopeful glint. I'm a good boy, see? Desmond's face went from pensive to a heartfelt sneer of a grin over the course of three seconds, and he pushed his fuzzy white sheath into the lupine's gaping maw. Ember shut his eyes and his muzzle with a happy little arf, and Desmond soon gave the night's bitch a drink. Bitter, hot, and accented with the taste of expensive sipping whiskey, the fox's piss stung the wolf's tongue and burned his sinuses. He shuddered and screwed his nose up with distaste, but below, in his own jeans, an aching tent appeared. Desmond idly rubbed the back of his urinal's head, and Ember's paws clutched the fox's hips. "Would you believe when I saw you," Desmond chuckled, "I thought you looked like a submissive little skank who would probably lick my asshole without complaining? Pretty fucked up that that's a conservative way to describe you."

The remark flustered Ember, but it was all true; not a whole lot of arguing he could do with the facts at hand, and so he did the next best thing by moaning and actually sucking on that gushing sheath, luring the fox's cock out into his maw, reveling blissfully in the filth of the act. As he began sucking, he couldn't keep pace with the tod's stream, and some of that hot liquid musk started to trickle down his chin, dribbling over his shirt, branding him with the mark of the bathroom slut. Just as he began to wonder how long that pretty, domineering foxcoon could go, the stream began to taper off, and Desmond huffed a sigh of deep relief. Darn. Slowly, Ember pulled back, and he gave the peeking tip of Desmond's yet-dripping penis a kiss laced with reverence. As the foxcoon briefly stroked over his head, he expected to hear good boy, but he didn't. Instead, the fox slid his jeans to the floor, then the feminine creature turned, presenting his rear to the bitch wolf, but if Ember hoped for passiveness, he was disappointed. With the wolf so close to the wall, he pushed back, pinning Ember with his taut ass, forcing that warm snout between his cheeks. Ember couldn't see it, (or much of anything) but Desmond's sneer was as condescending as ever. With his paws on the vulpine's hips, idly kneading and groping them, Ember dragged his tongue along the length of Desmond's taint and across his tail hole; with a shudder of a moan, the fox pushed back yet harder, uncomfortably pressing Ember's skull into the wall, and it left his cold nose practically buried in the taboo warmth of Desmond's ass crack.

With his air throttled, Ember's senses were heightened; he whimpered, but he licked harder and faster, slobbering with complete indiscretion on the tod's snug, quivering pucker. Desmond growled in dominance, rolling like a hog in filth in his power over the cute wolf, a perfect stranger with a taste for piss and other nasty things. Desmond didn't keep tabs on his one-time fucks very often, but he was going to get Ember's number one way or another. Looking down, the fox saw his own member throbbing and dripping with pre, and he admired the vibrant pink tones of it, freshly waxed by the mouth of the bitch beneath him. Tilting his gaze ahead, he saw his reflection in the mirror, more or less normal, but between his legs was a helpless, slobbering wolf, struggling to breathe, but not complaining or resisting. Definitely a good bitch. "Don't just lick the outside of it," Desmond growled. "Stick your tongue inside, get it good and deep. I might still fuck you if you do it." It was a privilege Ember would've killed for; Desmond's attitude, his looks, the smell of his musk and the taste of his body intoxicated the wolf and drew him in in such a way that there was no other alternative than absolute subservience. If he couldn't earn the right to have that fox knot his ass, he wouldn't have a reason to exist. Trembling with a rush of emotions and sensations, Ember felt his toes and fingers tingle with the blur of suffocation, brought on slow by Desmond's casual, upright facesitting.

The wolf's tongue lewdly tickled Desmond's entrance, then, with a firm push, it sank in deep. Though very much in calm control, the fox shuddered and tightened the orifice around Ember's invading tongue; now fighting against the ethereal tickle of unconsciousness and his de facto master's vise-like grip on his tongue, Ember slurped and lapped across those hot walls, coaxing trembling moans out of the fox, and his reward? Desmond pushed back harder, cutting off just a little bit more of his precious oxygen. His skull began to ache against the hard wall and his extremities tingled into unfeeling numbness, but while much of his body began to slack, his erection was harder than ever before, struggling in futility against his jeans. His tongue squirmed and slobbered, depositing saliva in the depths of the vulpine's rear; at last, just as the grip of unconsciousness took hold, Desmond pulled away. Not by much, but enough; with his tongue still past the clenched threshold of the foxcoon's asshole, he gasped sharply, and then tugged his tongue free. He fell, his back sliding against the wall until his bottom was on the floor. Desmond slowly turned again, looking down at Ember with a grin, the kind of grin that was almost literally ear-to-ear, but it showed only a hint of teeth. That malicious look, plus the angle and the dim lighting, almost made Ember whimper. "Come with me."

Desmond led Ember back out into the club floor, then through the emergency exit. Outside, he was struck by the cold night air. It was thirty-five, maybe forty degrees Fahrenheit, not too uncomfortable for furry creatures, but with the moisture of Desmond's piss now cooled and soaked into his shirt, he felt considerably colder. Looking around, he took inventory of the alleyway out back, and he saw a number of other men from inside the club. Outside, they smoked and talked, though surprisingly, no sex. The tallest and most muscular was a horse. From the looks of his colors, he was a Tennessee Walker. Following him in bulk was another wolf, but unlike himself, this lupine was solid black and an absolute stud. Tied in third and fourth place, there was a grey, brown-splotched hyena and an otter, and fifth was a skunk, but no matter how girly any of them were, the foxcoon was still far more effeminate and a thousand times more domineering. As he looked over the row of disinterested men, Ember realized he still didn't know the vulpine's name; it had never come up. He hadn't had a good opportunity to ask him, so he thought now, as he shivered and blushed, might be a good time: "Um... What's your name, if I could ask?"

Desmond turned to him, formerly inspecting a crate near the dumpsters; discarded and empty, it was waist-high and just about perfect for what the sinister fox planned. "Mm? Desmond," he said absently, rubbing his chin in thought. "Oh, but don't you dare call me by name," he added, offering Ember a coy smile. Ember dumbly returned it and chuckled humorlessly, more a noise of awkward fumbling. "Come here," Desmond purred to Ember, and when the lupine was close, he nodded at the crate. "Get naked, and sit up on that for me." Ember paused and absently felt at his bare neck, then mumbled: "Naked? But it's... It's cold." Desmond started to narrow his eyes; that was all it took. Ember flattened his ears and quickly slid out of all his clothing, then he hoisted his fine, nude body up on the splintering crate. Desmond moved close, between the submissive creature's splayed legs as they hung off the box, and he let his own pants fall to the ground, again exposing his erection. The tod shivered from the exhilaration of that icy air washing over his most intimate areas; though his balls began drawing up from the temperature, he was just too aroused to lose his erection, no matter how cold he was. With a growl and that lewd grin from before, Desmond slid his manhood under the wolf's balls, pressing the pointed tip against that tight, hot, unlubricated tail hole. Without mercy, he pushed in, penetrating Ember hard and fast. The wolf squealed with pain, but he stifled the noise by biting down on his own paw; his face was a portrait of discomfort, with his muzzle screwed up tightly and his eyes squinted, while his ears flattened against his skull. Quickly and efficiently, Desmond's swollen knot kissed up to Ember's tail hole. The other men were, not surprisingly, quite interested in what was going on, but none of them seemed to want to stop Desmond; their small grins and lewd eyes said everything about their intentions.

Desmond pinned Ember by the shoulders as he started to fuck that fine, tight ass; his pace didn't stutter a bit, even as dry as the poor lupine was. Ember thought he might cry, and he certainly wanted to, but he didn't; not in front of all these strange men, but his eyes did well up, soon glistening with tears. "So... Anybody who wants to fuck his face can do it," Desmond casually announced, and shortly after, Ember heard five zippers descending in rapid succession. "But first," the fox grunted, leaning down to kiss the wolf on the lips. Ember had never felt such a cold, loveless kiss in his entire life; it was like being stung without a stinger or venom. "Everybody who needs to take a piss, go ahead." The men looked around, blinking at each other and Desmond, some sporting erections, some still hiding in their sheaths, but all exposed in one way or another. "On my bitch, here," Desmond clarified, looking over at the group with a sneer; "Simple, right?" He glanced at Ember out of the corner of his eye; blushing and wide-eyed, about to cry, clearly dying to say something, but he lacked the nerve to stand up to the fox. "It turns him on. Would you believe earlier he stopped me in the restroom and begged me to piss down his throat instead?" Desmond snickered, and a handful of the onlookers stared in disbelief; the others grinned wider and stepped closer. Nevertheless, one by one, they encircled Ember, gripping their sheaths and members, aiming generally at the wolf, and one by one, they relaxed and let loose, quite literally covering Ember in their piss, gleefully crossing their streams as they saturated every inch of fur from his hips to the tips of his ears.

Helplessly, Ember squirmed and whined, his eyes clenched shut to resist that burning payload. In some twisted way, he was grateful for the warmth, and in another, he was incredibly, deeply sad for himself, and he thought back to the brief chain of events that put him where he was: going to the bar, choosing that particular stool, and then becoming completely entranced by Desmond. That fox could've been one hell of a con artist, he thought. "Nngh... Oh, god," Ember shuddered needlessly. As the five strangers tapered off (though the stallion continued for the better part of twenty seconds after the others) and he dripped with their individual marks, he moaned to them, finally opening his eyes. Upside-down, he saw the skunk first, then the hyena, and finally he looked down at Desmond, still hammering away between his legs, and his poor, abused asshole still throbbed with pain; if he was bleeding, it didn't surprise him. Looking further down along his body, he saw his throbbing, dripping erection, the knot bulging with arousal; oh my god, he thought, this is turning me on. This sadistic fox turned me into a urinal cake, and I'm so... Fucking... Hard from it...

What came next was a blur of sensations, and Ember couldn't pick pleasure from pain for a brief time; Desmond forced his swollen, bulging gland of a knot past the unyielding, abused pucker of his asshole with a mighty, deep groan; Ember was vaguely aware of the fact that he screamed, but that was about all he knew. It was as if such a terrible pain put him into shock; not unconsciousness, because that would have been too merciful, but it made him less aware. He felt the tod's hot jism spearing into his rump, sticking to his hot walls; he felt Desmond yank his knot right back out, leaving his tail hole agape, dripping with sticky warmth, but he felt no sting from it. At least he knew he hadn't been torn bloody by the fox. "Alright, boys," he heard someone far-off say; probably Desmond. Dazed and trembling, he was lowered to sit on the ground; he felt the unforgivingly cold pavement against his sore ass, and his back was against a brick wall, also cold. "Somebody fuck that muzzle." He saw blurry shapes moving quickly, he heard arguing, but finally, one figure eclipsed all the others. His senses began to return to him when his unconscious brain decided he was cool to drive again, and he saw that it was that black wolf, wielding a knotted penis. Two times the size of Desmond's, it had to be twelve or fourteen inches, and the knot was like a pair of fruit, ripe and red; Ember whimpered, not in fear, but need. His mouth opened, his tongue hung out of it, and it was quickly pacified by an enormous, red cock whose knot pressed against his lips.

Ember didn't think he needed to suck, not with the way that wolf started to ruthlessly facefuck him, but he did it anyway. He could taste residual piss oozing out, mingled with the big, bad wolf's precum; it made for a bitter, salty, stinging slime that burned his tongue, but by god did he enjoy it. Reaching up, he clutched the wolf's balls and squeezed them, squeezing his tongue around the shaft and kissing the knot whenever it butted against his lips - quite often. "Mmh, mmm, nnh...! Gawddamn, yeah, suck that fuckin' dick, little boy," the wolf huffed, fucking his smaller species-mate happily and recklessly. Behind him, the other strange men all waited, chattering amongst themselves about the bizarre situation, how cold it was, how hard they were. From the corner of his eye, Ember could see Desmond watching over him, the master of ceremonies for their back-alley antics. He talked to the other men, but what he said was a mystery to Ember. All he could hear was the wolf above him growling and panting, and from inside, he heard that enormous knotted cock plowing deep and wet into his throat. The harder he thrusted, the more Ember sucked and swallowed, and the more he groped the lupine's plump, aching balls in his paws. The only thing he wanted was a thick load from that wolf... And the rest of the men that mingled around.

Panting, growling, and drooling on Ember's prone face, the black wolf forced his shaft in, his knot butting uncomfortably against the smaller wolf's lips, simply too large to fit, but not for a lack of effort on that stud's part. "Yeah... Ah, god yeah..." The lupine huffed, blowing a thick load of his salty seed down the bitch's throat, absently tugging his ears while riding his orgasm out. "Good job," he heard Desmond say, before he eased the wolf back. Ember reluctantly let the pointed tip free, trying to lean forward, to kiss it as it retreated, but he was denied, and he flopped against the wall in panting exhaustion. Glancing down, he saw his own member harder than ever, pointing straight at his face. He wanted to take a break, to rub one out; he knew with everything he'd been through and all that waited in his near future that it would take only a few precious seconds. He started to clutch it, but Desmond knelt down, again bearing a toothy sneer, and he squeezed Ember's wrist. "Did I say you could touch yourself?" he asked, but it came across as a warning, one not lost on Ember. Cautiously, he shrunk back against the wall and shook his head, terrified to talk back. Desmond released his wrist, then sat beside the wolf, his own back to the wall. His sneer was gone, replaced with a look of lust and interest, and a glance downwards let Ember see just why; the foxcoon was hard as a rock again, and he subtly beckoned the wolf with a finger. "Sit on it, bitch wolf. I want that ass again..."

Ember would have been lying to himself if he thought he didn't like being Desmond's bitch wolf. Carefully, he straddled the fox, facing away from him and the wall, and with care, he lowered himself down until he felt the vulpine's pointed tip against his abused pucker. He knew for a fact Desmond wouldn't let him take his time, and so he shoved himself down, popping the fox inside and sliding down quick, stifling all but a deeply hurt whimper. Behind him was a gratified moan from the fox, and he felt the domineering prettyboy's paws on his hips, squeezing and groping him, encouraging him to start bouncing, which he did. "Ahh... Ooh, that feels..." Ember shuddered, leaving the sentence fragmented, but Desmond knew what it meant. He pressed close to the piss-soaked wolf and nipped on his scruff, then beckoned the otter. He was quite evenly matched with Ember as far as his body went, being an attractively athletic creature, with a modest, thick dick on him. "Open wide, puppy," he grinned, clutching his wide member, pressing the blunt, human-styled tip to Ember's lips. The bouncing wolf rolled his eyes back into his skull and shut them while parting his lips, and the otter slid in quickly. It was difficult, Ember realized, trying to bounce on Desmond and suck the otter off, but it made for an interesting challenge. The otter cooed little nothings to him, what a good muzzle he had, how warm his tongue and saliva were, but Ember wasn't paying attention. His ears were pivoted back, and he listened to Desmond as he growled much darker intimacies; he told Ember that tonight wouldn't be the last night he'd be the tod's bitch, and being pissed on and smothered would be the least of his worries in the weeks to come. Ember might have thought anyone else was just talking dirty, but not Desmond; he simply knew the cunning fox was sincere, and even more twisted, he hoped so.

Unlike the first time, Desmond was slow, almost gentle with Ember. Having gotten off such a short time ago, the insatiable urge to simply rut the wolf into a stupor was gone, and all he craved was the soothing warmth of that snug, sloppy-seconds ass on his pride. "Ooooaaaah yeah," the otter mrowled and grunted, smoothly grinding his slender hips into Ember's sucking muzzle, a paw planted firmly on the top of his head. "Reach up, rub my balls, do me like you did the wolf, bitch." The otter said it with a deeply condescending tone, a sneer; when Desmond said it, it was almost dignified in its' implied filth. He made it sound smooth like a gourmet candy, a fate to enjoy. But no matter who said it and how, he was the bitch, very simply, and so he reached up, giving the otter's throbbing balls the same reverent squeezes and strokes that he graced his fellow wolf with. Behind him, Desmond hissed into his ears, filling his head with filth again, his voice a low whisper. "Good bitch, very, very good... Look at how you handle those balls... Get used to how you feel right now, Ember; wet with piss, shivering cold, stuffed from both ends. This is the beginning of the rest of your life, wolf bitch." Ember whimpered, not with fear or shame, but blissful delight. It was a whimper that said yes.

Eagerly, Ember started to bounce faster and harder, forcing his abused entrance against the foxcoon's knot. He winced every time he pressed down into it, but the pain was fast becoming a second pleasure. Desmond's soft paws roamed his damp body like a fond lover's might, tracing over the creases of his modest musculature with padded fingers and blunt claws, leaving him shivering for reasons besides the cold. In contrast with Desmond's affections, the otter was panting and shuddering, thrusting harder and harder with time, his rudder shaking behind him. He squirted his thick pre on the wolf's slobbering tongue, but his breathing, fast becoming labored and passionate, suggested that a climax was fast on its' way. "Ah, shit... Shit!" the athletic river-dweller grunted, clenching his jaws, his jowls pulled into a toothy grimace. He shot most of his mighty load into the bitch wolf's muzzle, where it stuck to his palate, but he pulled back to let a rope or two splatter across his face in a half-hearted facial. Still bouncing and blushing, Ember absently licked at the splooge in his muzzle like it was peanut butter, more focused on Desmond's paws and whispers than the next man who stepped up; the Walker.

He smiled broadly down at the ensnared, bouncing wolf, showing off unnerving amounts of his flat, square teeth. "Hi there, wolfy bitch. You ready to choke on this?" he asked with a rhetorical flair, clutching his pink and black, mottled equine dick. It was enormous, even by horse standards. Sixteen, perhaps seventeen inches long, wide enough to choke even the most experienced cocksucking faggot slut. Even Desmond, for all his experience and weariness, blushed at the sight of it. The flesh was turgid, pulsating in the horse's grip, dripping a steady stream of preseminal fluid that pooled on the pocked cement beneath. Ember whined with need, with bliss, and his mouth was open wide, soon stuffed with horse cock. The limits of his muzzle were fast exceeded, and the stallion's dick started to push past the loving entrance of his throat, after which it sank in deep, balls-deep, to be precise. It filled his throat and then some, stretching the pliable flesh of his esophagus almost taut. And, most worryingly, he couldn't breathe; not like the comparably playful butt-smothering Desmond had subjected him to, but full-on suffocation. Ember had bitten off more than he could chew, but in a panic, he realized if he swallowed hard, (a gesture that handsome horse met with a deep, pleased moan every time) his throat opened just enough to let a little bit of precious air into his lungs.

Ember felt like he couldn't be any lower than at that particular moment in time. Not only did he bounce helplessly on a cruel stranger's throbbing penis, he had a stallion's cock buried so far down his throat that he could very well wind up with the phrase sexual misadventure in his obituary, he reeked of and dripped with piss from a handful of strange men, and worst of all, the most vile offense, he loved it. Every second of it. Even more when Desmond called the hyena and the skunk over, offering Ember and the two men a cryptic clue: "His paws aren't doing anything." As the stallion slowly and steadily throatfucked him, the wolf took hold of the hyena and the skunk, clutching their throbbing, dripping black members in his soft, padded paws. He was wonderfully sloppy as he tried to jerk off the both of them and still remember how to swallow and gulp for air around the Walker's cock, and everybody was moaning; Desmond, Ember, and all three of the strangers. "Yes," Desmond hissed into his ear, nibbling softly upon the triangle. "You're going to make all of us cum, and that's really what you want, isn't it? Isn't it, Ember? Say it... Say it, wolf bitch..." Ember shuddered and shook, his eyes clenched tightly shut. "Mmhmmm," rumbled out of his occupied throat, but it was enough for Desmond.

The fox started to buck up into his wolf bitch; again, his knot was ready and waiting, and Ember winced every time it was thrust against him, knowing what Desmond's ultimate goal was. As badly as he wanted the knot, he knew it would be incredibly painful; once was alright, even fun, but twice? In less than an hour? Agony, even if he unconsciously hoped it hurt so much he screamed. To keep his corrupted mind off of that, the wolf bitch busied himself with the three cocks before him; the stallion clutched his head as he bucked his hips, plowing into him in such a way that his balls were really starting to hurt the lupine's throat. In his warm paws, the skunk and hyena started to pant, both of their black, veiny, human-styled penises covering his silky fur and smooth pads in slippery pre, allowing him to jerk them off just that much faster, a vicious cycle. "Oooh, fuck yeah... I almost never get to fuck someone in the throat so deep," the horse cooed, his big, brown eyes shut tight, his lips pursing into a grimace as he obviously neared his own climax. "Shit... Ah, yeah...!" With a snort, he plowed his cock in to the absolute hilt; Ember's eyes welled with tears, feeling like his jaw was going to break from being spread open so wide, and then the stud came. His shaft pulsed wider, painfully stretching Ember's throat yet more, so wide that he couldn't breathe even if he swallowed, and he certainly tried. The stallion's load thundered down his throat, filling his gut with that protein-packed slime, and for the second time that night, Ember felt himself going unconscious.

As things went dark, he felt a soft paw on his shaft, romancing the tender, red flesh with an immensely skilled touch. The fur was so soft, softer than anything he'd ever felt, and the pads were unspeakably fine. In his dizzy state, he came, but it was a climax like no other; the magic of erotic asphyxia saw him orgasm in such a way that he went tense like rigor mortis, his throat constricting the stallion tightly, his rump doing the same to Desmond. He felt the tingling bliss of orgasm, but a thousand times more intense than he'd ever known before. He came for what felt like years, but really only lasted for seconds. And then, just when things truly started to go black, the horse pulled back; Ember sucked in the air like he'd never tasted it before, and then he gasped, wheezing and whimpering in Desmond's embrace, finding himself being shushed sweetly by the fox; there were no dark words coming from his lips, not right now, only hushed praise and soothing affection. Coming around all the way, he realized the skunk and the hyena had deposited their loads on his face while he was temporarily unconscious, and left; the horse was similarly absent, and the wolf and otter too. It was only he and Desmond, and he was vaguely aware of the intense, but slowly fading pain in his ass, the lack of mobility, the inability to stand when he tried that told him he was knotted again. With a relaxed, resigned huff, Ember closed his eyes again and leaned into Desmond. "How did you like all that, Ember?" His bitch wolf paused to think, then smiled with reserve. "I enjoyed myself," he croaked, his throat burning like he'd smoked a thousand cigarettes.

"Good," Desmond purred, "Very good... Same time next weekend?"