FSE

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I can't wait. I've been thinking of nothing else all day. The minute I get through the door I throw myself on him, kicking the door shut behiind me with a well-aimed hindclaw. It hurts but that doesn't matter: it's absolutely nothing to the ache in my crotch, the one that's been steadily increasing as the day went by. The one that demands satisfaction, the one that made me dream half the day away, that made me look at other guys' dicks in the toilets when I went to piss and made me groan inside out of sheer want, the one that just never let up even as I was driving home but got steadily sharper and sharper and deeper and deeper and right now is screaming to be satisfied. I don't let him speak, I just about let him gag for air around my lips, turning my pointed face against his so our two nosepads can suck in air around each other, whiskers blowing about like branches in a storm. He doesn't fight, he doesn't struggle, he just goes for his belt as I go for mine, almost ripping the catch through the leather in his haste to get it open. After a second or two of urgent wrestling with my own I give up, it's really not worth it, and as he starts to pull his pants down I unzip, reach in and pull out my sheath, screaming for attention, my pointed cock hidden, swollen, swollen so hard and tender to the touch, I can feel the blood beating in it, coursing through the ready red flesh and around the baculum, the heartbeats so fierce I can almost feel its shape by the passage of blood. And it doesn't matter, it doesn't matter, nothing matters but that he's got his pants down, I can't wait for him to free himself from his boxers: with a shove I force him down onto the sofa, face-first into the cushions. My claws give me access a moment later in a liquid tear and then I'm on him, hunching, grinding my loins against his ass, hunching, hunching, searching desperately for that sweet spot. The tip of my dick slides in and out of my sheath on the first couple of thrusts and then I'm so horny and aroused that I'm sticking out, and just in time because after one knee slips, my pants slick on the wooden floor, I'm in the the right position and it goes in, straight in, every neurone in my brain lighting up like the Fourth of July in Vegas. From somewhere I hear a howl of pleased pain, maybe it's pained pleasure, I neither know nor care: I shove, shove deep and hard into that welcoming tightness. Precum is jetting out of me into him, slicking the harder, deeper motions I'm making now as my dick swells more and more. I don't have long, I know I don't, I just have to go for this and rely on him, my husband, there underneath me with my shaft in his ass. In the uncurtained window I catch a glimpse of myself, ears back, teeth bared, tongue lolling and flecked with spittle, only my shoulders and upper arms visible over the back of the sofa. And I'm pounding, pounding, shoving into him, hearing his cries and whimpers of delight muffled by the cushions, his scent of arousal now starting to seep into the air, the aroma of him, my husband, my sexy, wonderful lover, driving me on and on and on. Deep in my loins that need is growing, faster and faster, the need to tie, to shove so deeply into him; lost as I am in this unearthly lust I can't warn him but the flicker of sense remaining in my neocortex hopes he'll be ready since I can feel it coming, it's coming, it's coming oh my Gods it's coming it's coming it's cooommmiiiiing IIIIIT'SSSS COOOOMMMIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNGGGGG and so am I so am I my knot right in swelling pumping the rest of my shaft longer thicker harder locking plunging deep tight tight thrusting bare millimetres his ring clenched tight around my base so tight so sweet so hot so so so so so OOOHHHHH FFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK

I'm panting. Gasping for breath. Something moves underneath me... feels warm. Soft but solid. Not the sofa.

"Berry?" Michael's voice. All I can manage for several seconds are gasps. Then: "Oh God..."

"Guess you really needed that, huh, love. 's been a while since you were quite so alpha, even with me..."

"... you... you okay?..."

A soft chuckle. "A bit sore. And I need a new pair of boxers."

My turn to chuckle.

"Oh," he says, "and maybe the sofa needs cleaning, too."