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Desmond stood at the head of the class, his hair tied back into a respectable ponytail, with his glasses drooping low on his muzzle. He clutched an extended pointer, and the fox, now a stand-in professor for a few computer science classes, was skilfully teaching a silent classroom of his peers about the importance of closing all memory leaks. For such a boring subject, the fox could sell it like no other. At the peak of this lecture, his phone buzzed in his pocket; every single one of his friends knew to obey the status message he had set. "Teaching, NO CONTACT" was a simple, direct set of instructions that only a fool would willingly ignore.

That, or the de facto coolest guy in the college, the head jock, the "Brick Wall" of the New Desaint Brix. Otherwise known as the fox's "owner."

The tod didn't even have to read the text to know what it was. Stripes was the only person who would willingly disregard Desmond's obligations for a quickie. He briskly excused himself, ditched his glasses in his dorm room, and took off in a near sprint all the way to the other side of the campus. He knocked on the jock's door breathlessly, and it swung open to reveal the handsome zebra, tall and muscular, more full of himself than most of the guys he fucked. "I texted you four minutes ago, bitch." He huffed, stepping aside to let the vulpine in. Still panting, Desmond stepped inside, while Stripes shut the door behind him. The zebra reached out and grabbed the tod's ponytail, smirking subtly at the yelp he made. "Ponytail, huh? I thought I told you I like your hair straight." Stripes said in a warning, almost scolding tone, pulling the band out of the fox's hair, yanking a few yellow strands loose with it.

"I'm sorry, alright? I was in the middle of a lecture, you should be glad I came." The foxcoon grumbled, looking up at Stripes with an expression that burned with disrespect. Stripes had no interest in punishment, however. He was no sadist, nor was he into that master-pet stuff; the fox belonged to him completely, yes, but he never saw a need for a formal title. Besides, an unspoken obligation to serve was far more arousing than an overstated one. "Yeah, yeah, quit bitching, foxy. Clothes off." The jock said matter-of-factly, and despite his attitude, Desmond complied on an almost reflexive level, shedding his clothes quickly and completely. The stallion looked down at his bitch, taking in every detail of his feminine body, and, of course, that swollen, pink, knotted canine dick of his. Beautiful foxbitch, that was for sure.

Stripes reached down and undid his zipper, then he let his jeans fall to his ankles, exposing an enormous, sweaty, musky package wrapped up in a well-worn jock strap. Most men on the football team left those seasoned undergarments at the locker room, but not Stripes; not anymore, at least. Not since he learned what a fetish his foxbitch had for those things. All bitching an insubordinance had left the tod, and all that remained was panting and lust, an insatiable desire to bury his pretty face in the horse's junk. Baring his teeth at the desperate fox in a broad grin, Stripes grunted: "Kneel."

Desmond hit the floor faster than he could think, panting and blushing, his eyes fixed on that thick bulge. That jock strap grew tighter by the second, growing increasingly saturated in precum, leaving it so intoxicatingly musky that the tod felt magnetically attracted to it. Reaching out, the stallion clutched the back of the tod's head and pulled him in close, forcing the cute nerd to nuzzle and sniff, making him take in enough musk to drown him. That was pretty much the plan, of course; the jock had learned over the past year just how much of a slut the fox could be for his powerful scent. "Ah yeah... That's a good bitch..." Stripes said with a mischevious smirk, forcing his package over the fox's muzzle, letting the vulpine's sensitive nose push right into his heavily scented taint, while his enormous package covered the tod's eyes. Though it was never his preferred form of domination, sexually abusing Desmond had given the jock quite a taste for playful smothering. The jock had to admit, it was certainly quite a thrill to watch some cute bitch squirm and whimper under you, for reasons besides having a foot-long horsedick buried in them...

"Rrr, I gotta tell you, foxy... That cute face makes a nice place to rest my balls..." The zebra said with a dirty sneer, ruffling the fox's well-groomed hair. Desmond whimpered in obvious, but helpless need, his soft paws caressing the stud's long, thick legs, his padded fingertips feeling every ridge and bump of his impossibly well-defined muscles. Stripes did enjoy being worshipped, but with most partners, fuckbitches like Desmond especially, the jock preferred to forgo the theatrics of slow, sensual idolization. Not so with this foxcoon; several years of those hardcore master-pet relationships, and a good part of the reason the fox pretty much owned the IT wing of the college, had seasoned the vulpine well for such a task. He knew how to touch the zebra, how to respect that handsome body the way it deserved.

Stripes squeezed his thighs together, fully trapping the cute fox's long, soft muzzle, forcing him to breathe only the fermented musk of his most private of priavtes, ripe with masculinity from a recent training session. That was another reason he liked fucking Desmond; not only did he not have to shower, the fox encouraged him not to! Talk about a good slut...

"I think that's enough of that..." Stripes said with a low, sultry tone, slowly releasing his fox. Desmond looked up at the jock with relentlessly horny eyes, his muzzle damp with sweat from the zebra's unmentionables. "Good look for you, bitch." Stripes muttered, tugging his jock strap down. As it sprung free of the elastic waistband, the stallion's shaft nearly smacked the tod in the face. It was only a minor issue that it didn't, and one the stud would correct later. The jock leveled his cock with the tod's muzzle, and it was like looking down the barrel of a gun for the slutty fox. A long, thick, black weapon with one hell of a hot load chambered in it. "Rrf, god... You're beautiful." Desmond said curtly, looking up into the jock's eyes. Stripes cracked a little smirk and clutched the back of his cockbitch's head, slowly forcing his pride deep down into that tight, velvety muzzle. "Captain Obvious much, foxy?"

Desmond had a high tolerance for gagging, but a low tolerance for domineering assholes. He liked to fuck assholes, not submit to them... Unless that asshole was Stripes. Rumors drifted all around campus, and a lot of people even thought the two of them were dating; but the truth was, Stripes had broken the stuffy, snotty nerd, and had rightfully assumed ownership of the skilled slut. It was as simple as that. Desmond had a desire and a need to be used, abused, and fucked raw, and Stripes gave it to the fox in spades. In particular, through the mouth; the stallion slowly but surely fucked the vulpine's warm, wet muzzle and tight throat, bulging it with his girth, pumping a king-sized load of pre straight down into the slut's stomach. As much protein as he fed the tod, Stripes was surprised Desmond was still such a sissy. Not that he minded having such a cute twink on slut speed-dial.

As much as Stripes pushed deep into Desmond's throat and pulled on the back of his head, the vulpine was hardly passive. Like the jock had come to expect, the fox sucked and slobbered like that dick was the fountain of youth, and his black mittens squeezed the zebra's swollen, throbbing balls, earnestly milking the athletic creature. The jock huffed and panted, losing his composure to the skilled fox, one of only a small handful of partners who could really make the zebra moan. After they graduated, he was definitely gonna have to keep tabs on that fox; maybe add him to his harem when he became a superstar quarterback. Decadent orgies and whatnot. It was an entertaining fantasy, anyway.

The zebra felt an orgasm coming (cumming?), a distant tingle in his loins, a shiver up his spine, a fluttering in his chest. Goddamn, did that fox know how to work a dick. Be it with his ass, paws, mouth, hell, even his feet on one drunk, experimental occasion; Desmond consistently got the jock off with flying colors. "Ohhh, fuck, foxy..." The jock grunted, his eyes rolling back in his head as he squeezed the sides of the tod's face, forcing his dick in to the hilt, spilling a seemingly never-ending supply of jism straight down the vulpine's throat. Desmond's cheeks flushed a hot, vibrant red, and his eyes bulged almost cartoonishly, but his expression mellowed into one of sexual contentment, a deep-seated affection, and unwavering respect.

Stripes held on to the fox's head for all of a minute, but released it at last; being the good bitch that he was, Desmond stayed on the jock's cock, sucking and lapping, cleaning it, as it were. Before he could even contemplate his next move, the stud's phone buzzed on the nearby desk. With a disinterested grunt, he grabbed the device and turned it on, not even glancing at the screen. Stripes cracked a little grin when he heard the meek voice of the fox's boyfriend. "Ah, hey. Desmond won't answer his phone. I know you guys always hang out a lot, have you seen him?" The foxcoon was dating a cute, pudgy, and at times annoyingly shy raccoon. Luckily for Desmond, Stripes was no chubby-chaser, nor was he a completely heartless bastard. If his bitch wanted a love-life, fine. Just as long as it didn't interfere with his job as a professional jock cock cleaner. "I haven't seen him... He's probably down at the tech store or something. You know how that little nerd is." He said in a cheerful, charming way, though all the while, he grinned down at the busy fox. Desmond knew from the conversation and the look on Stripes' face just who it was; he was no fool. Really, though, he had to wonder if his boyfriend was naive or just dull. The fox didn't care very much when he was fucking that raccoon's thick ass anyway.

"Uh huh. Yeah, I'll tell him if I see him. Mmhm. Bye-bye." Stripes tossed the phone on the bed and tugged his semi-erect shaft free of the tod's muzzle, giving him a rough smack across the face with the slobbery rod, snickering at the way the slut gasped and shuddered. Total submission. "Your sissy boyfriend's looking for you. Should I call him back and tell him you're gettin' reamed?" The jock asked with a toothy grin, looking down at the blushing, defeated fox. "Naaah... I'm not gonna do that. Not as long as you do what I say and stop this shit of being late. Seriously, foxy. Four minutes. That's four minutes sooner I could've been fucking your face. You know how long four minutes is in the fourth quarter when the sun's beating down on you and you gotta make up a fourteen point difference?" Desmond simply blinked after the zebra's long, almost rambling scolding, but before he could start giggling, Stripes barked an order: "Paws and knees!" Just like that, instinct took over. The fox turned and dropped, catching himself with his paws, looking back at the zebra before theatrically raising his long, banded tail.

Without even a taunt, the zebra stepped out of his jeans and jock strap, then mounted the foxcoon, pressing the flared tip of his shaft against the vulpine's fine ass cheeks. Desmond shuddered and looked back at the jock with a deep red blush on his cheeks, and total reverance in his pretty green eyes. For Desmond, it was like a drug deal; secretive meetings, shameful things done for the sake of pleasure, and lying to everyone he knew about it. Yet the high he got from it, to be that big, strong jock's helpless, unquestioning bitch, it was a euphoria the little nerd hadn't known since he lost his virginity. Stripes knew he had what the fox wanted and needed, and that position of power, of total dominance, it was a dominion he held only on Desmond. He could have had it over anybody, but in an odd way, Desmond had earned the "right" to be zebra's number-one bitch.

With no care in his actions, Stripes pushed his shaft forward, parting Desmond's ass, letting the soaked tip of his shaft, that fist-sized equine flare, kiss up to the fox's snug asshole. It was a gentle touch, and a pleasing sensation, but very menacing when you realized what it was like having such a huge dick knocking at your backdoor. "You know, foxy, sometimes I think about fucking you real gentle and slow, you know, like I do with people I care about." Every word was calm and matter-of-fact; he didn't care how the fox took what he said. "But hey... I'm a nice guy. I know why you come running when I make a booty call. I know what my bitch wants." As he spoke, the big zebra slowly pushed his hard-as-steel dick inside of the squirming fox, tuning out the cacophony of moans and yelps the nerd made. "Yeah, I bet if anything, I start being nice, you'll stop coming around. Nobody wants that, foxy..." Stripes said, trailing off as his shaft was half-buried. After a full two seconds, he buried the second half with a brutal buck, giving his nerdy bitch the rock hard jock cock he craved. Desmond howled in bliss and pain, an ambivalence he was used to in their relationship.

Stripes spoke from experience; he'd tried being mister nice guy with a few of his casual partners, but nothing brought them in like being an abrasive douche. It was counter-intuitive as hell, but it got him laid, and how. Desmond's enthusiasm was a prime example of how well it could work. The zebra looked down upon his panting, groaning cocksock, letting his eyes follow that wagging, banded tail for a moment or two. With a little chuckle, he stroked down the nerd's back, then gently squeezed his hip. With slow, but determined thrusts, he began to breed the coonfox's tight ass, giving him a pat on the side. "You're one hell of a fuck, Dezzy." After a few moments, as he was still clearly adjusting to that enormous stallion prick, Desmond looked back and said, with a surprisingly mischevious smirk, "Oh, you still remember my name?" Stripes snorted in faux indignance and pounded his dick in with a gruesome brutality, making the smart-mouthed fox flinch and press his head into the sheets with a pitiful groan. "I gotta remember it, you're too much of a self-loathing cockfag to get a tramp stamp."

The zebra continued to slowly and carefully fuck his fox, exhibiting an unusual care in his movements. Ordinarily he would've been gleefully ripping the tod a new asshole, but he always went a little bit slower if he shot a protein shake down the bitch's throat first. He'd still hit that plateau of vicious, borderline-feral mating, it just took much, much longer for him to get there. Desmond, naturally, preferred it this way; when the zebra took his time, it was almost romantic. Almost, but not quite; there was always that looming dominance, the crude remarks, the general cruelty that the nerd had come to expect and desire.

With a predictable pace, the zebra slowly picked up speed, huffing quietly above Desmond. The athletic equine leaned down on all-fours over the fox, letting his hot breath wash over the foxcoon's perked, sensitive ears, and he reached under the effeminate male, stroking his fluffy, but inoffensively smooth chest, tweaking his nipples after he found them under the fur, molesting him in a way that made the coonfox moan sweetly to him. In a rare moment, the jock smiled and planted a little kiss on the nape of the tod's neck, then he rumbled with a pleasant growl, making his bitch shiver.

The romance wasn't destined to last, and they both knew it. A moment of sweet, tender sex was the exception to the rule. Squeezing Desmond close, the stallion flipped over onto his back, keeping himself buried in the fox. Desmond needed no orders, and no encouragement; he began to eagerly bounce upon his jock's dick, facing away from the zebra. Now in control of the pace, the fox took everything he wanted, bouncing hard and fast, huffing and groaning as he did, reaching down to stroke his own swollen shaft to a fast-approaching climax. Stripes didn't let Desmond ride him often, if only to keep a stranglehold on his dominance, but once in awhile, his bitch deserved a treat. And since he didn't like spending money on the fox, this was usually what he got.

"Yeah, atta boy... Keep goin'..." Stripes closed his eyes and let a dirty grin cover his snout, while he stroked the bouncing, panting foxcoon's hips, not interfering with his riding at all, simply touching what was his. With an orgasm that came hard and fast, Desmond let loose with a torrent of seed, an enormous amount for a fox, rivaling what Stripes could put out... If the jock had gotten laid four times that day already. The zebra could tell when his bitch came, and not just from his hurried cry of "Aah, oooh, shit!", but the way he clenched down so tightly, and bounced harder and harder as his orgasm took hold.

Stripes allowed the nerd a few moments to enjoy his afterglow, but soon, enough was enough. He eased the fox up and off of his shaft, forced the exhausted twink on his back, took hold of his ankles, and plowed his swollen stallion meat in one last time. With no care, no love, only raw, sexual passion, the zebra nailed the squirming, howling bitch, trying to plow his dick up the back of the foxcoon's throat. His bed creaked and grunted uneasily, and the cheap, wooden headboard banged into the wall again and again, alerting the entire floor to the fact that Desmond was visiting Stripes. "Rrrgh... Aaah... Fucking Christ, foxy!" He grunted absently, clenching his jaw and closing his eyes, only vaguely aware of the tight deathgrip Desmond had around his neck with both arms. With a deep, shuddering groan, his muscles tensed and his well-groomed tail lashed, and the dashing jock sullied his foxbitch's innards with buckets of his sticky splooge.

Coming into his own afterglow, Stripes held Desmond close, panting gruffly into his neck, nibbling on it now and again, another rare moment of affection. When that warm sensation at last subsided, he tugged his obsidian dick free and dismounted the bed. The fox laid there for a moment, exhausted and satisfied, leaking with the zebra's seed. "Good fuck, foxy." He said in a way that was, surprisingly, not at all condescending. What came next, however, was no surprise. He wiped the seed from his shaft with the fox's shirt, and tossed it beside him on the bed. Desmond looked at the zebra with genuine offense, and the jock cracked a little grin.

"Better go see what your boyfriend wanted."