FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

--1

Recently home from work, content but a little tired, Diciotto eased back into his armchair and kicked it back, propping his feet up. Angled just enough to watch the TV, he did so while looking down his body. To his eyes, his body was familiar, normal, and even unremarkable; to a stranger, it was a work of art.

Just tall enough to be imposing, built in a compact-muscular way, Diciotto was a fine male specimen - and he was an unusual creature, being a beaver. It wasn't just his musculature or species that got him looked at; his coat was snowy-white, contrasted by swatches of black.

Some of these swatches - like the bushes of his armpits - were almost always visible thanks to his usual choice of clothing, a tank top. Others, like his toes, or one in the middle of his chest, and the entirety of his crotch, were not so apparent. Matching these tufts in shade, almost always styled into a subtle pompadour, was the hair on top of his head.

Diciotto's colors had not one, but two deviations. His nose and rudder were purple, an interesting splash of color, and his pupils were a close shade. Overall, he was an attractive and distinctive man.

For most, it wasn't the beaver's body, colors, species, or perpetually lewd smirk that made him sexy: it was the bulge in-between his legs. Diciotto was hung in a way to make a stallion blush, and the thick curve of his enormous, round balls, plus the curled serpent of his cock, meant he entered rooms crotch-first even when he was soft.

That bulge was in the beaver's view as he tried to watch the TV, blocking a few inches of screen space from his eyes, but he didn't mind it one bit. Like any man, Diciotto treasured his manhood; he had no problem at all looking at it. In fact, under other circumstances, he would've done more than just glance at it.

Soon as I start, though, he thought, clicking through the channels, finding nothing worth watching, Timmy's gonna show up...

Minutes went by in boredom. Five, ten, then fifteen minutes; half-an-hour before he realized it.

Glancing out the window and noting the setting sun, Diciotto mulled over rubbing one out. A fast one, just to take the edge off before company arrived. Not like I'm good for just one shot, anyway, the beaver thought, and the self-assurance made him grin.

Having convinced himself with little effort, the beaver started to tug down his zipper. And then, with such perfect timing that he sighed and shook his head, the doorbell rang. "Yeah, that's right proper," he chuckled under his breath. He pushed down the footrest, pulled up his zipper, and made for the front door. By then, his guest rang a second time, just as he got his paw on the doorknob.

"Gonna wear the bloody thing out!" he scolded, but with a jovial tone and a grin on his face.

"That's what I could say about you in there, eh, mate?" came the barbed reply, and Diciotto laughed and swung open the door.

--2

"Right proper ne'er-do-well, ain't you, Timothy?" he grinned.

Grinning back, the red fox shrugged, then stepped forward. Dropping his duffel bag in the threshold of the door, he wrapped his arms around Diciotto, and he squeezed the beaver tightly, getting the same in return, albeit harder. "Good to see you, Deech," he churred.

"Aw, likewise, likewise," the beaver smiled, losing that sleazy edge he seemed to always have, just briefly. "Well, don't leave the bloody door open," he finally snickered, breaking off the hug. "Hard enough t' keep my flat warm without you lettin' the Autumn in."

Timothy lifted his bag, stepped in, and then shut the door with his foot, just barely breaking stride. "So what all have I missed?" the fox asked, dropping his bag again before sitting at the kitchen table.

Disappearing into the kitchen, Diciotto called out, "Ah, a whole lot of nothing." Before Timothy could press him (he knew it was a matter of when, not if), he asked, "Anything to drink, mate?"

"Somethin' cold," Timothy remarked with a tight smile, as he unlaced his shoes and set them aside.

Diciotto chuckled, emerging from the kitchen moments later with two clear bottles of cola, held by the necks in the fingers of one paw. "How's that folksy music treatin' you?" he asked, heavily setting down one for the fox.

As the beaver pulled out his own chair and sat, Timothy twisted the cap off his bottle with some difficulty. "Well," he mumbled, quickly wetting his tongue with a drink, "it's been just all right. Seein' lots of the country, even been on over to the States on a lark." He smiled. "Mostly keepin' myself on familiar soil, though."

After a long, gratifying drink of bubbly soda, Diciotto relaxed in the wooden kitchen chair, and he looked across the table at Timothy with a glint in his eye. "Been wooing all them pretty girls?" he winked, flustering the fox somewhat.

"Girls, heh," Timothy grinned. "It's about the music, not the sex!"

Sniggering, Diciotto stretched in the chair, his muscles still tense from work. Confidentially, he leaned closer, clutching the soda bottle in both paws. "At least when I go out to get laid, I don't gotta use a guitar and a pretty singin' voice to get some," he smirked.

Timothy sipped his drink and smiled thinly. "Me either," he chuckled, "it just helps." At Diciotto's laugh, he took a longer drink, and then he said, "All right, now, Deech," a deathly seriousness fixing his eyes and withering his grin (earning a similar effect on the beaver), "just how many ladies and boys you been sendin' home bow-legged with that pecker of yours?"

Glancing off at an obscure angle for the effect of deep thought, Diciotto made a long, thoughtful hmmmm noise. At last, he looked back at Timmy, his indigo eyes gleaming with mischief, and he said, "Enough that most folks in Liverpool can't ride bicycles no more."

With a rude noise from his lips and then a laugh, Timothy said, "I'm supposed to be the funny one, now!"

Just sneering, absently wiping the condensation off of his bottle, Diciotto remarked, "Who says I'm bein' funny?"

Chuckling coyly, the fox somewhat feebly said, "Well, I'd hoped you were bein' funny. That's a lot of marathons to make your third leg go running."

Diciotto snerked at the choice of words, and then he had a few more drinks, draining the cola down to foam at the bottom of the bottle. Interlacing his fingers, laying his paws on the table, he shrugged and more modestly said, "I've just been havin' some good shags like usual - you know how it always is with me."

Enjoying another drink, Timothy was still a ways from finishing his soda off. He swallowed and more casually asked, "Any nice-looking boys to speak of? Always up for a tail tale," he grinned.

"Why, Tim, as a matter of fact," the beaver sneered, "there have been some proper divine lads in my bed. Younger fella a few weeks ago made me think of you - 'specially when I was redefinin' the word loose with his rear. He sang like you wouldn't believe."

But Timothy believed it, and the thought made him grin and blush. Diciotto's package was, by all rights, impossible to miss - especially back during high school gym class. Spurred to chuckle at the memory, Timothy cut in, "Heh - remember gym? Climbing the ropes and all that other athlete nonsense?"

Diciotto nodded slowly and chuckled.

"Thought it was funny when you first put on those little shorts, and your fuckin' todger just flopped out of the leg," Timothy said, breaking into sniggering, and then unhinged laughter.

That got Diciotto started, too, albeit with a big, toothy grin. "I was the only lad in that class who got to wear track pants. Everybody always thought there was somethin' wrong with my leg thanks to the bulge."

In between fits of laughter, Timothy managed to say, "You proved, once and for all," then came another hysterical fit of giggles and snickers, "that those jock straps were not one-size-fits-all!"

"Ah, yeah," Diciotto laughed, "I just gave up on wearin' mine, that thing was like tryin' to wear a bracelet on my bloody forehead."

For a time longer, Diciotto and Timothy spoke about more pedestrian things, bringing themselves down from the giggles and the lewdness. By the time they'd calmed themselves, Timothy felt a strong rumble in his stomach; having a drink only reminded him of how hungry he was. "Hey, Deech," he said, glancing across the table at the beaver.

With a semi-serious look on his face, Diciotto merely nodded at the tod.

"Any good grub around here? I'll buy," Timothy said, before grinning, "for myself, anyway."

Letting his expression slip into a deadpan smirk, the beaver ignored the bait and just said, "All sorts of good food around here, mate, depends on what you're cravin'."

"Not gonna offer me a big Italian sausage?" Timothy sneered.

Diciotto winked. "Too easy, much like you, my friend."

--3

After dragging a straight answer out of Timothy (something Diciotto lampshaded, remarking that a fox like him was hard-pressed to do anything straight), the beaver called for food the tod had agreed with - something from a little American grill restaurant uptown.

"Greasy, oversized cheeseburgers," Timothy had explained with appropriate gestures, "they're just something I got myself a little kick on when I was across the pond."

Diciotto was easy; whatever his guest wanted was fine with him, and when the food actually came, he sternly (but smilingly) forbade the tod to pay for it himself. (In "revenge," Timothy slipped a ten pound note under a magazine on the coffee table while the beaver was busy at the front door.)

Tentatively eating their greasy cheeseburgers, accompanied with glasses of iced sweet tea, the pair talked, but more casually than before. Dinner had the two of them preoccupied, and they stayed away from lewd subjects, perhaps out of a long-ingrained sense of respect for dinner at the table, or maybe just because they'd exhausted those subjects for the time being.

Whatever the case was, by the time Timothy finished his food (doing so several minutes before Diciotto, having eaten his with a noticeable voraciousness), he stretched, splayed, and yawned.

Smiling coyly, then clearing his palate with a drink of tea, the beaver asked, "All that tourin' making you old before your time, Timmy? Ready for a nap?" As he spoke, his smile twisted into a playfully malicious smirk.

Running with the barb, Timothy nodded, spurring Diciotto to a wary narrowing of his eyes. "Ah, yeah," he smiled, "all that tail on the trail's just wearin' me out, mate. Vixens throwin' unmentionables at me..."

"Vixens? That what we're callin' sissy-boys now?" the beaver sniggered, afterward finishing off his own burger. Shortly thereafter, he gulped down his tea and set down the glass, the ice cubes clinking.

Ignoring the remark, Timothy stood and gathered up the empty styrofoam containers, carting them off to the kitchen trash bin.

"Ah, thanks," Diciotto said.

"Least I can do," said Timothy, stuffing the containers down into the trash. "You did buy me dinner," he glanced at Diciotto and smiled coyly, "and wouldn't let me pay even a pence on it."

Diciotto smiled back and winked. "I take pity on struggling minstrels."

"Struggling!" Timothy laughed, already walking back up to the beaver, whom he reprimanded with a playful swat on the back of the head.

Swatting back at the tod's paws, Diciotto chuckled in good nature, and then he nodded over towards the den. "Wanna see if there's anything worth watchin'?"

"I doubt if there is," Timothy mumbled, but then his expression took on a tight, coy flair. "Tell you what, though, I got something I think you're gonna like. Lemme just unpack, yeah?"

The beaver nodded obligingly, so the fox grabbed his duffel and walked off up the stairs.

Somewhat boredly, Diciotto dumped out the iced tea glasses, gave them both a cursory rinse, and then went back to his armchair, where he sat and watched nothing in particular. It shortly occurred to him that Timothy's prediction was dead-on. There wasn't a thing worth watching.

--4

Unlike before, Timothy didn't interrupt the beaver as he was about to jerk off; his timing was slightly less annoying in that he disturbed the beaver's rest, waking him from a shallow nap. "Hey Deech," he said, answering his host's incoherent mumble with a gentle shake.

"Oy, what, wha-a-at?" Diciotto asked, craning his head back to look at Timothy, who was behind and to the side.

Smiling impishly, Timothy brandished a movie. Some DVD, the cover of which Diciotto couldn't quite make out from the angle. Fortunately for him, the fox lay it in his lap (brushing his fingers over the dormant lump of the beaver's cock, seemingly intentionally) and said, "Check it out. This is worth watching."

Either ignoring or not noticing Timothy's soft touch, Diciotto grabbed up the movie and perused its' cover. With some barely-decent (though decent was a relative term here) censoring, it portrayed a toned and handsome husky dog leering with bi-color eyes, one blue, one brown. A promisingly thick censor's bar was plastered over his loins and between his legs, all the way down to his knees; STARTS HERE, it said on the bar. Captured mid-pelvic thrust, sneering, with an anonymous twink hugging a leg, the dog was made out to be a revered stud.

"Dog Bones, Volume 9," came Diciotto's mechanical reading of the title, which made him sigh like a disappointed father.

While Timothy knelt down near the TV and familiarized himself with the DVD player, Diciotto turned the case over. "Renowned male model and hung-to-the-floor stuntcock Randall 'Ever-Randy' Blackswell puts stallions to shame and reams the boys deep with--," Diciotto paused his emotionless reading to snicker, "--twelve inches solid of man-meat."

While Timothy giggled impishly, Diciotto just shook his head in his facsimile of paternal disappointment. "Really, Timmy? Come on, mate. This is just wonky."

Grabbing the movie out of Diciotto's paws, Timothy said (all the while trying to stifle laughter), "You'll like it, might bring back old times, eh? Well-hung bloke bendin' boys half his size over in back alleys and the like."

Watching the red fox put the movie in, Diciotto pushed down the footrest on his recliner, stood up, and plopped onto the sofa instead; Timothy sat at his side, their bodies touching, but not grinding together. "Hard to take a mess like this serious, though," he tutted.

"How's that, you figure?" asked Timothy, fumbling with the remote to get through the menu. Once he did, he tossed the remote elsewhere on the couch, and he tugged down his pants zipper, similarly undoing the button on his fly.

For just a moment, the beaver watched his vulpine friend open his fly, before doing the same to himself.

Timothy's cock and balls made a rather pleasant lump in his boxers, but Diciotto's was just phenomenal. The sight caught the red fox's attention off the line, even as the movie began; as promised, it started with a rather dramatic shot of Blackswell's endowment, but the fox wasn't looking at the screen.

"Well," Diciotto chuckled, "just twelve inches? The fuck's impressive about that, eh?" he said with a wink to the fox. "Anyway... Let's see what this smut's all about. I wanna see some boys walkin' funny."

--5

His trousers and boxers down around his ankles, Timothy palmed and groped his own flaccid member to the tune of the movie, with nearly-constant glances over to Diciotto's bulging groin.

"Yeah, take it like that," Blackswell said as he pushed his big, pink bone into the adorably-short fennec fox he had bent over his bed. Squealing with pain as well as pleasure, the small fox only spurred the husky to work harder, and he soon put one foot up on the bed for leverage; an accommodating camera angle gave a nice view of the penetration, the canine's big, fluff-furred balls, and his own snug pucker.

For obvious reasons, the scene had Timothy hard, and quickly, eight inches of vulpine meat throbbing eagerly and dripping with pre. In one paw, he palmed his heavy balls; in the other, he quite fervently masturbated, earning Diciotto's attention in the form of a tight little smile.

"You always did get off on seein' your own kind get stuffed proper," the beaver said, chuckling in playful derision and a bit of reminiscence. Turning his eyes on the screen, too, he fluffed his own shaft through his boxers, while Blackswell started to ream the fennec. There was no build-up to it, no warning; once he was in, he was fucking the small tod.

Crude as it was, it was also very sexy to Diciotto. Seeing a well-hung man wielding his meat so authoritatively made him think of himself; thus, it wasn't hard at all to place himself in Blackswell's situation, rutting that twinky, big-eared fox. Grinning impishly, he slid down his own boxer shorts, exposing the monstrous serpent of his cock (and earning Timothy's undivided attention for a few moments).

At just half-mast, Diciotto's cock was already well past Timothy's length. It was just on par with Blackswell's mighty dick on the screen, in fact, but the porn star husky had nothing on that beaver. Not even fully engorged, Diciotto's uncut, flesh-hued meat was every bit as thick around as his wrist, and that girth only widened as he pumped it.

With a shaft so massive, a full erection took time and devotion, but after quite a bit of stroking (while palming his black-furred balls, not unlike what Timothy was up to), Diciotto's cock stood tall. It was magnificent, a monument to masculinity. A full eighteen inches, the blunt-tipped shaft was as thick as his own bicep, and stroking it in any satisfactory way necessitated both paws.

As the scene ended and Blackswell deposited a thick, virile load into the fennec, Timothy glanced over to Diciotto with the tiniest of smiles. "Hey - hey, Dee?"

"Muh-huh?" the beaver grunted, biting his lip with his pronounced front teeth.

"Can you even see the bloody screen?"

Distracted from his self-abuse enough to laugh, Diciotto snatched up a pillow, formerly pinned under his rear. "Bein' a twat, are you?" he laughed, just as he smacked the pillow into Timothy's face a few times.

Although Timothy yelped, it was undermined by a laugh. Ultimately, the tod swatted the pillow away, without letting go of his cock. "I'm joking - 'sides, not like like I'd figured you'd mind me makin' mention of that dick..."

When he glanced over to Timothy again, Diciotto caught the tod licking his lips. This made the beaver smile, albeit lewdly. Purposefully, for Timothy's sake, he gave his exposed, blunt tip a few squeezes, turning the flesh purple for a few seconds, coaxing out several thick spurts of pre for the tod's pleasure.

Without a word, the two went back to just pleasuring themselves; Diciotto's attention was (after a shift so he could actually see the screen) solely on the movie.

By then, Blackswell's impressive dick was being ridden by an athletic ram, while the fennec from before rimmed the domineering husky. It was a thrilling sight, but Timothy's gaze was torn between the porn and the much more personal sight of Diciotto's throbbing cock, bulging harder and thicker the more aroused the beaver became.

Diciotto glanced over at Timothy, a lewd gleam in his eye. "Hey, doing good there?" he coolly asked, nodding to the tod's erection.

"Ah, yeah," Timothy huffed, giving his balls a firm squeeze, huffing as a result. "Mmh, hey Deech?"

"Uh-huh?"

"Ever film yourself rubbin' one out or plowing some nice piece?" the fox asked, smiling impishly.

Slowing his stroking down to a more thoughtful pace (as thoughtful as masturbation could appear), Diciotto noncommittally said, "I considered it, aye; I like to think a todger like mine'd get quite a few hits on the internet."

Chuckling, Timothy remarked (while picking up his own pace, thus huffing and sprawling out a little), "Well, hey, one of my other mates I was gonna visit lives right around here. Right proper cameraguy, him - taught me how to film my band."

Skeptically, Diciotto asked, "Think he'd be all right with somethin' like this, though?"

Timothy winked. "Rob's a cool guy, trust me."

"Well, hey," Diciotto shrugged, turning his eyes back on the porn; the ram was bouncing hard and fast, and the fennec was slobbering the dog's asshole deeply. "If you wanna film me beatin' it, I'm not gonna gripe."

"G-gotcha," Timothy grunted, biting his lip just afterward. A few minutes came and went, the red fox jerking off more and more quickly, his single stroking paw soon becoming a blur, while his paw on his balls was more-or-less idle. As Blackswell groaned hard and shot his masculine wad into the ram (who, in turn, splattered his own load onto the canine's chest), Timothy came, too.

Emitting a low, strained cry, accompanied by grimacing, bared teeth, the tod squirted his load up onto his chest, staining a perfectly good shirt, and not caring one bit. Diciotto watched him, with a little smirk, as he loosed several potent ropes, his cock twitching harshly with each. By the time the orgasm subsided, he just panted, cock and balls still held tightly, and he looked at the beaver's cock with a tired but satiated expression.

"Nice wad, there, Timmy," said Diciotto, chuckling coyly, "but here's how it's done, mate..." While Blackswell settled into another fuck, this one with a slender, black stallion on his all-fours, Diciotto started to really work his cock. No longer paying the porn any mind, aroused solely by the knowledge of Timothy's voyeurism (it was always he'd enjoyed any time they had masturbated together over the years), he stroked himself hard and fast.

Diciotto's coordination and speed was amazing, but it was also necessary for him to get off; Timothy knew it was out of necessity that he could handle his cock like that, but he still admired the beaver. His performance, his endowment, his demeanor... Everything about him was drop-dead sexy, and had he not been so tired from the trip over and his own orgasm, he would've joined the beaver again.

"Ah, yes, yes-s-s," Diciotto hissed, curling his toes as his balls began to draw up, seeking the warmth of his loins. Pre drooled constantly from his tip in thick droplets, but they never stayed coherent for long; his stroking paws dispersed that juice all over his shaft, leaving his endowment completely smeared with its' own natural lubrication, already glistening with it.

Finally, Diciotto bit his lip and pressed back into the sofa. Every muscle, from his toes to his jaws, cinched tightly; his legs were out straight before him, his toes curled in sharply. When his release struck, the amount of jizz he produced was as incredible as the force behind it. For a solid minute, his cock throbbed and squirted rhythmically. Each rope of seed shot over his head, some just narrowly missing the ceiling, though the end result left Diciotto's face and hair caked with his own spunk, as was several feet of the carpet behind him.

All through this wild climax, the beaver hissed and groaned pleasurably, squeezing and idly stroking his spasming cock to milk out every last drop of seed that he could; he didn't get it all, but nobody was keeping score.

"Bloody fuckin' hell, Deech," Timothy grinned, shaking his head, "you cum like a stallion and a half. Let's hope you can bust a nut like that for Rob's camera tomorrow."

Diciotto chuckled in mischief and put his feet back down on the floor, while his member flopped tiredly across his thigh and into Timothy's lap; the tod didn't seem to mind it.

Idly and in silence, both men just savored their afterglow (although Timothy's had mostly faded by then) and watched the porn. Once Blackswell had blasted a load into the black little stallion, the tod finally decided enough was enough, and he pushed himself up and off the sofa, running his paw along the beaver's shaft as he did.

"Well, hey," he said, yawning and stretching out, before stepping out of his discarded bottoms, "it's been one tiresome day - mind if I have me a shower and some rest, mate?"

"Help yourself," Diciotto coolly said.

Timothy took out the DVD (bending over, bare-assed, seemingly purposefully for the beaver's sake), tossed the case casually on the coffee table, and walked off upstairs.

For a time, while he heard the shower run, Diciotto watched yet more dull tripe on TV, but his mind was elsewhere. Showin' my todger on the internet, he thought, chuckling ruefully. Better make it worthwhile... And I think I know just the things to do.

Once Timothy went to bed, Diciotto mimicked the routine verbatim; tomorrow was a big day. The last thing he wanted was to be fatigued.

--6

Yawning awake to the alluring smell and sound of bacon frying, Timothy smoothly rolled out of bed and put his feet on the floor. Driven by hunger, his morning routine went quickly; he made the bed, brushed his hair smooth, brushed his teeth, and headed downstairs.

Just as he expected, he saw Diciotto in the kitchen. Bacon was in one pan, fluffy eggs in the other, with two plates stacked on the counter and two forks close by. Grinning, he gave the beaver a pat on the shoulder and said, "Up early cookin', eh? Big breakfast to keep your strength up for later?"

Glancing over his shoulder, Diciotto regarded the tod only with an enigmatic grin. Then, turning off the burner under the bacon (clearly, the eggs had already been cooked for some time), he said, "Mind getting drinks, mate? Milk and OJ in the fridge, help yourself, yeah? I'll have what you have."

"Sure thing," Timothy easily said, grabbing two glasses from out of the cabinet, and then the orange juice from out of the fridge. Just as Diciotto split the food up across the two plates, Timothy had the glasses topped off, and they took their plates to the table.

"Smells good, you always were a decent enough cook," the fox grinned, sticking his fork into the eggs and skewering a few pieces.

Chuckling and shrugging, Diciotto picked up a piece of bacon. "I'm more'n just a pretty face, don't you know."

Timothy chuckled and spent a few minutes just eating, his uninterrupted feeding the only compliment that Diciotto needed. When the both of them were just about finished, though, the fox spoke up (in-between bites of his last piece of bacon), "I'll give Rob a call in a little while. It's, what," he glanced at the clock, "11:30 in the mornin? He'll be in bed 'till at least noon."

Made to smirk at that, Diciotto casually asked, "Not a morning fellow?"

Grinning back, Timothy said, "Yeah, no. I wouldn't call him that at all. But he's a damn good friend, and he's good at what he does."

Diciotto shrugged. "If you like him, good enough for me."

Timothy smiled, then he finished off what was left of his food. Diciotto slowly stood and reached for the plates, but Timothy was quick to pick them up. "Nah, let me do it," he calmly said, before smiling impishly. "Wouldn't wantcha sprainin' a wrist or somethin'."

"One of them fancy sports-related injuries, eh?" the beaver sniggered, thumping his rudder against the chair. "Well, if you're gonna pamper me, I think I need to film myself beatin' it more often!"

All Timothy could do was sigh, chuckle, and shake his head, all at once. "You're a rotten bloke, Dee."

"I'm practical," the beaver grinned, "not rotten. Anyway, I'm gonna throw on some fresh clothes."

"Sure," answered the fox, while Diciotto made his way to the stairs. After washing up what few dishes there were, he padded upstairs to get dressed, himself, having slipped on just boxers to sleep in after his shower (and without putting on anything else in the morning).

--7

Not unlike the night before, the pair sat and watched the TV; Diciotto was in his armchair, Timothy was splayed comfortably on the sofa. Unlike the night before they weren't watching porn, only the news. It was something Timothy didn't have a whole lot of interest in, but he did crack jokes that made Diciotto laugh; it was like their shared adolescence, a thought that drifted across both of their minds; they savored the camaraderie of the moment.

It wasn't until just after 1 o'clock in the afternoon that Timothy finally glanced at the clock. Without urgency, he said, "Oh, hey - I'm gonna give Robert a call now."

Obligingly, Diciotto turned down the TV as Timothy dug his cell phone out of his hip pocket. After fumbling with the well-smudged screen, he finally found and called Robert, and after six rings, almost enough to make the fox give up, his friend answered.

To Diciotto, the conversation was obviously one-sided, but he could at least guess what was being said.

"Rob, hey!" the fox said, chuckling. "Yeah, I'm in town like I said, just hanging out with Deech. ...Y'know! Diciotto." A beat, and then he started to laugh. "Yeah, him. Listen, speakin' of him, how'd you feel about a little shoot?"

There was a pause, while Timothy's expression leveled off from a smile to something more neutral; finally, he turned to Diciotto and nodded approvingly. "All right, mate, good stuff. I'll send you a text where to go, but it's not far. ...Thanks, Rob - see you soon." Taking his phone away from his face, Timothy chuckled softly, and went right into texting. "All right, um," he absently mumbled as he typed, "Rob'll be over pretty soon."

"Didja tell him what we got planned?"

"Nah, but he'll be cool with it," Timothy replied. "'Sides, he knows about your... Well, y'know," he grinned, "so he's probably got an idea of what's up."

Diciotto shook his head and palmed his forehead in mimicry of exasperation. "He knows? Sheesh, is the D all you foxes talk about?"

"Just about," Timothy answered, not missing a step. Finally, he pressed send. "Right, then. So, you excited?"

Nodding, but grinning, Diciotto said, "Yeah. Hope I don't get performance anxiety."

Timothy winked. "You're gonna do fine, mate."

--8

Robert's all-around laziness was something the tod remarked on in passing to Diciotto, but he invoked it again, with surprise, when his van pulled into the driveway less than half an hour later.

"Huh," the tod mumbled with some mild amusement, "usually takes him half the day to do anything. He's still tasting toothpaste at three in the afternoon, most days!"

In the back of his mind, and with a smirk, Diciotto knew why the purportedly-lazy Robert was so punctual; if Timothy really had talked at such length about his length, then that explained everything.

Although cocky, Diciotto was polite, and he stepped out with Timothy into the chill air; he had no mental picture of Robert (having not even known about the man until just the night before), but there he was.

Shorter than Diciotto but taller than Timothy, Robert set himself apart with his build. Diciotto was toned and Timothy was (as foxes tended to be) more slender, but Robert had bulk. Some of it was fat, though he was a far cry from being bearish; he just appeared ever so slightly out of shape, but his toned arms offset that; so did the fact that he easily lugged a heavy road crew trunk out of the back of his van.

His species was a distant cousin to Diciotto's, for he was a rodent, but a rat instead of a beaver. His coarse, brown fur glistened with a little bit of natural oil, an inescapable trait of his species, but he appeared clean and charming regardless. "Oi, Timmy," he said, his accent thicker than that of the fox and the beaver - deeper, too, but given his size, this seemed fitting.

After giving Timothy a tight squeeze, Robert turned his eyes on Diciotto, who nodded in acknowledgment. "And, Diss--, Dissie--, ah, hm."

"Diciotto," the beaver said, putting a subtle roll on the name. With a wink, he said, "Deech or Dee works, mate."

"Deech or Dee it is," Robert grinned.

The rat made to pick up his trunk, but Diciotto took to one side and lifted his side. "Lemme help, no guy needs to throw out his back for my sake."

"Ah, thanks," Robert said, lifting up the other side, and they steadily walked for the door. "Timmy, you mind helpin' out?"

Without a word, Timothy opened the door and held it, and the two rodents made their way in. "So, uh, Deech," Robert said, smiling coyly, "wot, exactly, am I bringin' all this filmin' gear over for, eh?"

Timothy chuckled and chimed in, "My mate Deech here is a snake charmer, you're gonna be filmin' him at work."

"Ah, boy," Robert sighed, but with a little chuckle under it. After he set down the trunk with Diciotto, he put his fleshy hands on his hips and he sized up the beaver. "Now, so you know - both of you! - I wouldn't even consider doin' somethin' along these lines for a more casual acquaintance."

"Well, ain't that all that I am?" Diciotto sneered.

Robert nodded, with a sympathetic smile. "From what Timmy's said, though, you sound like you're all right people - and I'm more'n a bit curious as to what's goin' on in your shorts."

"You and half the country," Timothy chimed in. "Anything else you need out of the van?"

"Nah," said Robert, then turning on his heel. "Lemme just go close it up... Looking like rain today, yeah?"

Timothy headed him off, already padding out the door. "I got it, you just get set up!" he called back; this made Diciotto and Robert chuckle alike.

"He's eager, ain't he?" Robert asked, kneeling down and popping the latches on his trunk; they were sturdy, heavy steel, built to resist crowbars, so it seemed.

Chuckling lowly, Diciotto only sheepishly answered, "Yeah, seems that way." It was just as the fox was stepping back inside that the beaver remarked, "So, uh, I ain't puttin' you off, havin' you film this sorta business, am I?"

Pulling a camera that looked alarmingly expensive out of the trunk, followed by a tripod, Robert somewhat absently said, "Ah? Not at all, man - not the first or, probably, last time doin' this."

"Who else've you filmed?" Timothy asked, smiling lewdly.

Smiling back with passable innocence, the rat said, "Me'self. So-o-o, I sympathize with the itch of wantin' your business on immortalized!"

After a short laugh from the whole group, Robert hefted a second camera out of the trunk; he handed it to Timothy, who held it with clear reverence, and he held the other himself. "Awright, Deech - where you wanna do this, man?"

"How's about the bedroom, plenty of room there," the beaver nodded.

"Sounds good, mate - lead the way."

--9

Diciotto's bedroom was a little sparse, consisting of only a bed, a dresser, and a nightstand, but that suited the setup just fine.

"So, uh," Diciotto mumbled, "just move stuff if need be, won't hurt my feelings any."

Absent, as he seemed to have a habit of being, Robert glanced away from mounting the camera to its' tripod. Meeting the beaver's calm gaze, he said, "Shouldn't be a problem, don't need a whole lot of room in here... Timmy, how's that camera going there?"

"One of the levels is fuckin' cross-threaded..."

Snickering to himself, Diciotto let the two figure it out while he got himself ready; he tugged his beater up and off, and he tossed it elsewhere on the bed without much thought. When he slid down his shorts, it was to little fanfare, but he felt some relief in letting his massive endowment uncurl. With the flaccid flesh hanging down in-between his legs, he sat back on the bed, arms folded behind his head. "Ready when you are, boys."

"I don't think it'll be too much longer," said Robert, looking up at the beaver, "maybe another minute or-- Holy wot, man."

Smugly, Diciotto grinned and said not a word.

Giving Robert a push, Timothy laughed, "I told you! You didn't believe me?"

"Timmy, Tim, mate, you told me it was big," Robert said, not taking his eyes off of Diciotto's member. "But I was thinkin'... Not that big."

"Guess you was thinkin' wrong," Diciotto winked. "You still wanna film it?"

"Oh, 'course I do," Robert replied, managing a smirk, but he was blushing hotly.

--10

With a little bit more tinkering, Robert had both cameras set up and rolling. On opposite sides of the room, their gazes intersected on Diciotto, still sitting back in bed, having decided that that spot was as good as any to perform at.

"So, we ready to go?" Diciotto asked, noting the running lights on the cameras.

"Aye, mate," Robert answered, peering through the eyepiece, "have at it."

"Do your worst, Deech," Timothy chuckled, similarly sighting on the beaver.

Chuckling lowly, maintaining his ever-present grin, Diciotto lifted the entirety of his shaft, the meat yet ragdoll-limp. Even flaccid, the length was staggering (as Robert had proven with his gape-mouthed reaction to it); he was pretty sure that his full erection would make him an internet celebrity.

Holding his cock behind the tip with one paw, as though handling a venomous snake, he pumped the rest of the dozing shaft with the other paw. This going was slow at first, the flesh difficult to stroke with so little rigidity, but it was hardly his first time jerking off; he knew, better than anyone, how best to pleasure himself.

As his flesh awoke and began to stiffen up with blood, Diciotto closed his eyes and let out a small huff. Giving his glans a squeeze under the hood of his foreskin, he coaxed out a small wad of pre. He started stroking himself a bit harder and faster, something the growing rigidity allowed, and in turn, he nurtured his growing shaft.

Timothy was well used to seeing Diciotto masturbate, and though he had an erection of his own, it was more easily ignored. Conversely, Robert wasn't at all tempered to the beaver's endowment; in his pants, his throbbing cock was a nuisance, but he dutifully kept the camera focused well on the action.

By then, Diciotto was well on the way to a full erection, but it was this twilight that he'd been waiting for. Letting a wider grin spread across his muzzle, he paused his stroking, to the brief confusion of both cameramen.

Grasping his half-erect cock, Diciotto held up his free wrist, and he slowly coiled the length of his cock around his wrist in a single, but complete loop, showing no discomfort, just sneering at the camera as if to say, yeah, it's that long.

Robert and Timothy both caught every second of the unusual but compelling spectacle; uneasily, the rat reached down and squeezed the lump of his own erection, longing for a quick romp with the beaver, but maintaining a semblance of professionalism.

Uncurling his shaft from his wrist, Diciotto then promptly did exactly the same to the other wrist. It was with a bit of difficulty that he coiled it that time, given that his cock was, however slowly, growing harder by the second, but there it was, nevertheless; a complete loop around his wrist, the flesh coiled tightly but harmlessly. Following this, he coyly bounced his eyebrows as he gazed into the camera; he was a natural showoff.

Once he uncurled his shaft again, anything Diciotto did should have been dull by comparison, yet the opposite was true. Case in point, when he started to pump his cock, by then near full in length, poor Robert's shaft was throbbing needfully, the rat hard-pressed to keep filming; fortunately, Timothy was keeping the beaver in a steady shot at all times.

"Ah, yeah," Diciotto huffed under his breath, leaning back, parting his legs. In doing so, he fully presented his heavy balls, the size of each comparable to a grapefruit, churning with seed.

By the time Diciotto's shaft peaked, Robert had been staring in slack-jawed amazement for a few seconds. So distracted was the rat that he wasn't even looking through the sight on the camera; he was just staring at the beaver's eighteen-inch manhood. Fucking hell, he thought, his whip tail lashing in agitation.

Diciotto stroked himself at a modest pace, and with both of his paws. His mitts had been dry, but with the copious pre spurting and drooling from his meat, that wasn't the case for long. Just like at Timothy's side the night before, the handsome beaver stroked from tip to base with steady pumps.

Robert and Timothy expected the beaver to just keep going, but no - that would have been too dull and predictable, Diciotto thought, drawing on memories of boring porn for an idea of what not to do.

With an obvious sort of reverence in his paws, a little flourish in the way he unclasped his fingers, he released his shaft and let the two cameras (and their blushing, hard operators) take in every idle throb of his herculean endowment. Meanwhile, he busied his idle mitts by perusing his own body, caressing up along his flat stomach and toned chest with his fingertips.

When he reached his nipples, which peeked through the short coat of his fur, he doted on them. After brushing the tip of each finger against the hard nubs, he pinched them between his thumbs and forefingers, not tightly enough to hurt, but enough to send shivers up his spine. Gently, he twisted and tweaked, and he groaned quietly and genuinely.

Peering down his body, he admired his own cock, which loomed over him, and would have made for a good sundial, he thought. The blunt flesh curved upwards as it extended, and so the blunt glans dribbled pre onto his stomach, where his white fur was filthy with the natural lube.

Concluding his pleasurable little tangent, Diciotto gave his nipples one last tweak each, coaxing himself to moan, and then he sat up, even straighter than before. In one firm paw, he began to masturbate the entirety of his length, angling it so the cameras could better capture the sheer length of it - and also letting his pre drip onto the bed, where it quickly made a dark, wet stain.

While he slowly jerked himself off, he grasped his heavy balls in the other paw, having a noticeably hard time handling both for their sheer size, yet he was able to fondle himself well enough to make himself sigh and moan.

Acknowledging the hazy edges of a climax, Diciotto started to pump his colossal flesh harder and faster, doing as good a job with just one paw as he'd done before with two. His idle fondling on his own sack also became a bit rougher, entailing gropes and tugs, but never anything too painful - a masochist, he was not, but rough sex (and rough masturbation) was always a good time.

Abusing himself and huffing so much, Diciotto seemed to be telegraphing an orgasm, but that was not the case; when he thought he was right on the edge (and he was - he teetered on the brink of a climax with a shudder), he stopped, both paws groping down tightly, though neither was moving.

Although the immediate threat of his release passed, he worked quickly enough that he stayed on the edge. Grasping his spasming flesh with both paws, bending it inwards, and leaning forward at the same time, he was able to kiss his blunt tip. Thanks to his length (although he was still a flexible creature), the beaver was then able to easily engulf his member, and he suckled upon the first few inches. Both paws gripped it at the base, palming it there, but the greatest pleasure was obviously from his own lip service.

Robert had managed to get back to filming, but he was still harder than stone under his jeans. Timothy had slackened to be almost the opposite; formerly staying on task just by being tempered to Diciotto's endowment, he had begun eagerly pawing at his own erection, having since unzipped (but not unbuttoned) his jeans to touch himself through his boxers.

Had he been paying attention to something besides his own cock, Diciotto might have remarked coyly on Timothy's unabashed masturbation, and if they hadn't been filming, he would have invited the both of them to join him. But he was in love with his own dick, and his climax was the only thing that mattered. Even the fact that he was putting on such a great show was inconsequential.

Gulping down more inches of his cock, managing to fit about a third of it in his maw before bending lower became impossible, Diciotto gave himself a better blowjob than most of the ones he got from his myriad partners. And why not? Blowing himself was something that the beaver was well-versed in, so it was no surprise that he knew just how to suck himself off.

Suckling but not bobbing, squeezing with both paws but not stroking, Diciotto's self-inflicted blowjob might not have seemed all that intuitive, but it was arousing as hell to watch. Unintentionally, his suckling was loud and sloppy, and drool ran down his cock with the pre in equal amounts. It was the textbook example of a wet, sloppy blowjob, and he was doing it all by himself.

The resurgence of that orgasmic feeling was almost a shame; Robert and Timothy alike were both staggered by what they saw (and the tod had since reached under the waistband of his boxers, whereupon he squeezed and stroked his aching cock's bare flesh). But Diciotto was tired of edging, and his own mouth was much too skilled for him to not indulge himself and blow a load down his throat.

Tingling in pleasure all over, and not just in the obvious places, Diciotto soon had his climax. Although his suckling, lapping, stroking and pawing were all wonderful feelings, that exhibitionist thrill was what helped him into his orgasm. At last, he started spurt into his own maw; jet after jet of thick, ropey jizz shot against the back of his throat, and he gulped it down as fast as he could - but not fast enough, and the sticky mess ran down his chin.

It didn't take long for the beaver to become totally overwhelmed by his own release (something that happened every time, no matter how ready he thought he was), so he pulled back and off, narrowly avoiding splattering on his own face.

Flopping back in bed, grunting and huffing with his mouth unobstructed, he jerked off as hard and as fast as he could, bouncing and bucking as he did. Thanks to the chaos of the self-abuse, innumerable ropes of his semen squirted onto the bed. One shot so far, it landed near Robert's feet, hitting the hardwood with an audible splat.

Diciotto couldn't help himself; groaning and wincing, cumming so hard that his face was scrunched into a tight grimace, his release kept up with unbelievable pressure. Another rope of his seed hit the wall above the headboard, splattering everywhere; one of the last, and thickest wads went so far that it hit the ceiling, and it dribbled onto the floor pathetically after the fact.

Showing not a trace of his usual smugness, Diciotto beat every last drop of seed he could out of his cock. Only once the orgasm had long faded and he was well into his afterglow did he let himself relax, and he ragdolled on the bed. His cock slowly drooped and eventually fell slack against his belly, and all that moved was his chest, bobbing up and down with each hard breath.

Finally, Robert shut off the camera, and he said, "Tim, man, quit rollin'. I think that's what we'd call a wrap, there."

--11

After a long, satisfied sigh, Diciotto sat up. With a grin and a wink, he said, "Not quite."

Timothy chuckled and shook his head; Robert popped up one eyebrow and asked, "Say wot, mate?"

Diciotto scooted to the edge of the bed, and then he heavily planted his feet on the floor; as he did, his half-flaccid cock smacked down in-between his legs, against the side of the bed. "I'm gonna have me a quick shower," he explained, "and then I got one more thing I wanna film."

"Over-achiever much, Deech?" said Timothy, smiling coyly. "You're gonna bruise that thing."

"Says the fox jerkin' off when he ought to be filming," Diciotto quipped.

After a snort of a laugh at the exchange, Robert said, "Well, if that's what'cha wanna do, mate. I don't mind it!"

Diciotto stood up and stretched languidly, putting his body on display not purposefully, but in a way the fox and rat found stimulating all the same. "Just make yourselves at home, won't be too long," and with that, he stepped out and into the bathroom.

--12

"That's unbe-fuckin'-lievable," Robert blurted out, as if he'd been holding it in.

"What is?" Timothy asked, albeit playfully, as he lay back in Diciotto's bed.

Chuckling ruefully, the rat merely gestured toward the bedroom door.

"What, Deech?" the fox asked, smirking. "He's somethin' else, yeah - I'll admit I've never met a bloke quite so hung that wasn't a horse."

"You and me both," said Robert, sitting on the bed as well, close to Timothy. He propped his back up against the headboard, and he folded his hands in his lap, just above the throbbing tent of his erection.

Casually enough, Timothy slid down his jeans and his boxers, but only to his knees. With his swollen cock and plump balls exposed, he started to jerk himself off. With his cock dribbling with pre, it was easy enough to slicken his paw pads and dampen his fur, keeping his work slick and purely pleasurable.

Glancing at Timothy's work, smiling easily, the rat remarked, "Never been too shy with that dick of yours, eh, Timmy?"

"Around friends, what's a quick wank?" the fox grinned. "Lookin' like you could do with one, too - why don't you?"

Politely (but blushing ever so slightly), Robert shook his head. "Nah - I rub one out, I'm gonna be too lazy to do a damn thing," he laughed. But the idea was tempting, agonizingly so.

"M'kay, suit yourself," Timothy coolly said, closing his eyes and relaxing against the bed. More and more quickly, he stroked his swollen, blunt-tipped endowment. Pre ran freely down his meat and left the flesh glistening.

Robert did enjoy the sight, which he took in with a thoughtful eye and a coy smile, but it wasn't quite as erotic as Diciotto's masturbation had been. Unlike the beaver, Timothy was working just to get himself off; it wasn't intended to be a show. That self-serving pleasure was attractive in its' own right, though.

"Mmh, man," Timothy huffed, "watchin' Dee go at himself like that always gets me goin'..."

"Seems that way," Robert grinned. Idly, he tweaked his own swollen cock through his trousers, and he did shiver from it, but he went no further than that. "After that show, I'm really curious as to what he's got up his sleeve."

"No idea," admitted Timothy, biting his lip just afterward. Stroking himself yet faster and harder, interspersing gropes throughout his masturbation, he made it clear that his orgasm wouldn't be very far off. With his free paw, which had been formerly resting on his thigh, he began to grope his heavy balls and further coax himself to a release.

"Nngh, gawd," the fox hissed, pausing to grope tightly on the drooling glans of his cock.

"'Bout to break a nut, there, Tim?" Robert asked, speaking with a rather lewd tone.

Too tied up in his self-abuse to speak, Timothy just nodded, but so tightly that it could have been mistaken for a pleasure-fueled spasm. Alternating between groping his swollen dick and frantically stroking it so quickly that his paw became a blur, he worked himself up until he felt the first twinges of an orgasm. The convulsion that came with it made him tense and grunt, clenching and baring his teeth. When the release itself came, he shot his seed up and onto his chest and against the bottom of his chin, the jagged ropes making a sticky mess of his shirt.

Every rope was heavy and thick, each a healthy, stark white shade, and even the drool of seed that came after the orgasm itself was rather potent and in high quantity.

Robert smiled coyly, and the whip of his tail, dangling off the bed, slowly swayed. "Nice load, there," he lowly said, "just about nothin' compared to Deech, though."

Timothy chuckled, then sighed in relief. Absently swiping at the mess splattered across another ruined shirt, he said, "S'how it's always been, I'm not bothered by it." Winking at the rodent, he added, "Feelin' envious of Deech'll drive you crazy."

Laughing softly, Robert concurred. Then, in some idle affection, he squeezed Timothy close. Given the circumstances, and especially the fox's indecency, it came across as more lewd than it actually was. "It's nice seein' you again, mate."

"You too, Rob," Timothy smiled. He was about to say something more (in truth, he was going to offer the rat a little relief), but the both of them snapped their heads up with they heard the bathroom door open.

--13

In stepped Diciotto, a towel wrapped around his waist, yet his water-slicking coat looked almost perfectly dry. "Interruptin' something, boys?" he grinned.

Robert pulled away from Timothy (less out of shyness, and more to get back to work), but the fox didn't realize the humor in the situation until he remembered the sloppy mess he'd made of himself. Sheepishly, he put his cock back into his trousers, and he planted his feet on the floor. Ignoring the hopeless mess he'd made of his shirt, he just said, "Ah, no."

"Well, hey," Diciotto chuckled, "if you two needed some privacy..."

"Everything's all right," Robert coolly said, standing up and stretching. Smiling coyly, he nodded towards one of the cameras, and then he asked, "Still wanna do more filming, or...?"

Diciotto dropped the towel and kicked it aside. "I'm ready, mate," he chuckled, afterward giving his pronounced front teeth an idle lick. "Stand to, Tim, c'mon!" he laughed.

Standing up, then stretching, Timothy yawned. "Aw, after a wank like that, I just wanna take a na-a-ap," he sighed.

Kneeling on the bed with one knee, but leaving the other foot on the floor, the beaver smirked at his vulpine friend.

Tinkering with one of the cameras, Robert chimed in, "Crybaby much, Tim? Your mate here just repainted th' room and wants to go again - you're about to croak after one plain old beating-off."

Smirking over at the rat, then at Diciotto, Timothy said, "Yeah, but see - nobody can rightly compare to Deech. Medical mystery, this guy."

"The medical mystery," Diciotto smiled, "would be the fox that's not a dick-slobberin' nympho."

Robert had a good, hard laugh at that, but Timothy was more stoic about the remark. Smiling tightly but shaking his head, he said, "C'mon, let's just get this filming done. You can be a prat later."

After a glance at Timothy, and an affirmative nod from the fox, Robert said, "All right, Deech - when you're ready, mate."

"I'm always ready," Diciotto cooed.

--14

For the moment, Diciotto stood beside the bed rather than lay himself on it. Whether or not he intended it, him standing nude allowed for the sight of his flaccid shaft dangling in-between his thighs, reaching past his knees. Enthralling as ever, it had already attracted Robert's hungry eye; Timothy, who had just gotten off, was not quite so enamored with the view, but he could appreciate it.

In a gesture that fit his smugness well, Diciotto thrust his hips and his cock pendulously swung upwards, bringing about thoughts of an elephant's trunk. Before it could drop again, he caught it; the flesh made a meaty plop! in his palm. Coolly as can be, he began to pump and tease his flaccid flesh, working it gradually into a state of erection. Just like before, this was hardly a quick process, but it was a steady one.

Both cameramen had begun to wonder just what the formidable beaver had in mind, and they were left to wonder for a short time longer. Only when he was half-erect did Diciotto move on, but rather than coil his dick around his wrists again, he had another trick up his sleeve entirely - something he was sure that Robert and Timothy, and a good portion of the people who would see the video, would be thrilled by.

Slinking onto the bed, the beaver stretched, and then he settled against the headboard, his body propped up nicely. Hips flat, he splayed and raised his legs, and he reached down with both paws. With just a little effort, he exposed his tight pucker to the cameras, which Robert and Timothy both were sure to focus on.

Once he was sure the cameras (and, because he enjoyed the thrill of exhibitionism, his friends in the room) had gotten a good, long look at his asshole, Diciotto suckled just two digits, their immediate use suddenly obvious. A few wet sucks later, his slippery saliva coated the fur, making strands here and there.

Absently licking his front teeth, Diciotto wedged his wet fingers into his rear. Doing so made him shudder, and he closed his eyes tightly; Timothy caught this pleasurable expression, and he smirked just a tiny amount at it.

Though more at home on top, Diciotto wasn't entirely opposed to bottoming - though when he did it, it was exclusively on his own terms. More to the point, fingering his own behind was a pleasure he was experienced with, and he worked his digits in deep - knuckle-deep, in fact.

By the time his fingers were in that far, his cock had gotten considerably harder, but it was still a ways from the eighteen-inch magnificence that the cameras had captured just prior. That semi-flaccid state was something the beaver was banking on, though; his most interesting of dirty party tricks wasn't something he could pull off with a rager.

Brevity in mind, Diciotto spread his fingers, twisting them this way and that, stretching his delicate pucker, albeit not too roughly. Robert captured every dirty moment of it. Timothy sometimes redundantly filmed that same action, but mostly, he roamed and picked out some good footage of the beaver's grimacing, huffing face.

His cock just about three-quarters hard, Diciotto truncated what had turned out to be a very enjoyable fingering. Keeping his legs apart and his winking, pink pucker exposed, he grasped his manhood, one paw on the middle, one below the head. Like wrestling an anaconda, he negotiated it downwards, curling it over his massively plump balls, bending it with relative ease.

Robert and Timothy watched in disbelief and arousal as Diciotto did what seemed to be impossible, like a campfire ghost story for homosexuals. First butting his blunt glans against his pucker, Diciotto started to slowly but surely penetrate himself, sinking many inches of his oversized endowment past the snug ring of his asshole.

It was easily the most bizarre thing Robert had ever seen, but it was also very erotic. Timothy was just as surprised, albeit less so; the things Diciotto could do with his dick were arousing to him, but he had long since abandoned the baffled surprise that newcomers like Robert displayed.

Bending his swelling cock right up until it became too difficult (although not yet painful) to do so, Diciotto somehow plunged six inches into his own asshole. Although merely a third of his whole endowment, the spectacle itself made up for that, and he unhanded his shaft and just lay back to let the sight sink in.

A silent ten seconds came and went, Robert uncomfortably kneading his own erection, Timothy earning another one.

What Diciotto did to interrupt the respite was even more outrageous; gripping his cock again, he started to fuck himself. His range of motion was limited, his dick so much harder to maneuver than even the biggest of dildos, but he was still having anal sex with himself. Hardly fast, and without agility, but remarkable all the same, Diciotto was screwing his own ass.

It was a vicious cycle that the more he got into this auto-anal, the harder and less cooperative his shaft became. Before too much longer - in other words, before he could achieve an orgasm - his cock was much too swollen to keep up his own ass. He tried, but keeping it bent was impossible, and so he finally gave up on it.

Harder and faster than the first time he'd jerked off for Robert's cameras, Diciotto pleasured himself again. Off the line, he was stroking himself with both paws, and his face was tightened into a pleasurable grimace the entire time; so tight was this expression, he didn't even have his usual grin. He was just overwhelmed from stimulating himself in so many ways at once that there was no hope in putting off the inevitable.

But for roughly a minute, as he just jerked his magnificent cock off with both paws and at such a fervent pace, it was a show like no other for the cameras and the two voyeurs behind them. Robert and Timothy both had seen enough solo male porn videos to be more than jaded to the subject, but Diciotto's body and performance were both simply marvelous

Under his breath and through clenched teeth, Diciotto muttered something that was utterly incomprehensible. Truthfully, not even he knew what it was, and after the fact, he wouldn't have remembered saying anything, anyway. His swollen balls were drawing to his loins, and everything was a blur, that wonderful cocktail of stimuli that accompanied a truly mind-blowing orgasm.

"Sh-shit," Diciotto grunted without a hint of his typical coolness. It was genuine distress in the face of such a release, and when it struck, it was phenomenal. It sent his stout body rigid and smacked the headboard against the wall. It made every muscle in his body tense, from curling toes to tightening jaws, and most importantly, his massive cock twitched, throbbed, and then gushed. Nevermind counting individual ropes of jizz; Diciotto's release was more like a constant slurry of white cream that made a mess of his body and face, most of all, but did one hell of a number on the bed and the floor, too.

Only at the back end of the release did the beaver's orgasm taper off into more distinguishable spurts, but even then, it was no less potent. Each and every rope squirting free of his dick made the entirety of the shaft flex, and in these convulsions, the beaver felt pleasure that bordered on the incomprehensible.

Through the release, he pumped and squeezed to milk out every drop, but as afterglow came barreling towards him, his flesh was much too tender to keep abusing. Like dropping something too hot to handle, Diciotto slung his paws away from his cock and flopped them onto the bed, whereupon they clenched the linen and dragged it up into their fists. Left unattended, his meat drooled the dregs of Diciotto's release down its' length and onto his hips.

"Ooh, holy--..." Diciotto mumbled, but didn't finish. He just panted slowly.

Painfully hard in his trousers, Robert sheepishly said to Timothy, "Uh... Cut, mate."

--15

"Jeez, Deech," Timothy said, shaking his head but grinning a wide, toothy grin, "I've seen some things, but that was a new one."

"Talk about a show," Robert said with obvious awe in his tone. The lump that was his crotch was so thick as to be impossible to miss.

Diciotto chuckled weakly as he lay there, worn-out but content. It took some effort to sit up - and it was accompanied by a tired groan - but when he did, he clambered off of the bed and padded for the door, picking up his towel as he walked. "All right, fellas, I'm washing up again," he sighed.

"Gonna run up your water bill showerin' so much!" Timothy grinned.

"Get stuffed," Diciotto said with a glance back and a coy grin, "or you can clean up the bedroom."

After a glance at the staggering mess that had been Diciotto's release, Timothy just smiled innocently at the beaver and folded his paws over his lap.

With that, the beaver stepped out.

--16

"So, Rob," Timothy started to casually say, glancing down at the rat's crotch - however, the rodent didn't let him get any further.

"Tim, man," the rat broke in with urgency and a blush on his face, "there another loo here, mate?"

"Uh, yeah," the fox answered, a little puzzled. "Downstairs, just off the hallway."

Leaving without a word, Robert quickly located the other restroom. Like the rest of Diciotto's home, it was quaint enough and simply functional; the fact that there was nothing about it to admire was of no consequence to him, and the magazines under the counter weren't any concern of his. As soon as he locked the door, he dropped his trousers, briefs too, and he gripped the turgid flesh of his cock.

Swollen to capacity, Robert's meat stood an inch or two shy of a foot. Like the rat himself, it was also quite a thick piece, and though his size and girth paled in comparison to that of Diciotto, so did every other man.

Squeezing his cock and coaxing out a shudder, one he was careful to muffle by clenching his jaws, Robert embraced the fresh visual of Diciotto's performance. Wrapping it around his wrists had been one thing, but fucking himself, that was incredible.

Standing over the toilet as if to piss, Robert braced his free hand against the wall behind it, palm flat. At once, he started to stroke himself fervently, keeping a tight grip. At first, his fleshy palm would have liked to stick, but the pre he quickly coaxed out soon left his cock and hand alike covered in musky, natural lubricant.

The harder the rat masturbated, the more his excess pre slopped into the toilet - not his main reason for standing over it, but it was one less mess to clean up.

Every pump was driven by a half-defined fantasy; he wasn't sure what, exactly, he wanted from the beaver, since he wasn't much of a bottom, but he easily imagined himself going down on Diciotto. Such a massive, uncut dick was an impossible thing to resist, even to him. And so he jerked off with even more ferocity, his palm slapping noisily against his flesh, but by then, he didn't care about the sound. If Timothy knew what he was up to, so bet it; it wasn't like the fox was any less lewd.

That brought up another part of the fantasy; if Diciotto heard him and decided to pop the lock open, what then? "Nngh, yeah," the rat growled through his bitten lower lip. Again and again, his palm slapped up and down the length of his slippery cock. Pre spattered into the toilet and made the water ripple. Showing just how agitated he was, his whip of a tail lashed back and forth, narrowly missing the walls and the door on a few occasions, other times brushing but not snapping against obstacles.

Usually, he could last a reasonable length of time; Robert never fancied himself the best lover there ever was, if such an objective thing could even exist, but he left his partners satisfied. Jerking off to the recently-etched memory of Diciotto's staggering performance, however, was trying for his endurance; he was grunting and convulsing in that orgasmic way already, and his plump balls were drawing up close to the warmth of his loins.

He couldn't say that his release was anything special, not in light of Diciotto's awesome loads, but he was satisfied all the same. With a tight grin on his face and a blush to match it, the chubby, brown rat squirted every last rope of his sticky seed into the toilet, keeping a snug grip on his cock for aim and for pleasure.

After making himself wait so long to unload, there was a considerable amount of pressure behind each one of his spurts. Every one of them sloshed the water in the bowl, and by the time he'd finished up, the formerly-clear water was murky with diluted cum. Gazing down at the mess, he huffed and shuddered, grateful for his release, albeit feeling naughty for where he'd had it.

After a sigh of relief, he flushed, made himself decent, washed his hands, and stepped out.

--17

Timothy was waiting in the living room, sitting on the couch and watching TV, wearing a different shirt. Easily, the fox spotted the post-orgasm glaze in the rat's eyes; he still had a little bit of it himself. Letting Robert know that he wasn't at all a stealthy sneak, he smiled coyly and winked.

Blushing, Robert chuckled easily and sat down with the fox, a person's width between them. Though not splaying, he did make himself comfortable as he leaned back into the cushions. "Today's gonna be one for the scrapbooks, innit?"

"Heh! Tell me about it," Timothy chuckled. "I've seen Deech do some stuff, but, well..."

"Said that already, mate," Robert grinned.

"It bears repeating!" the fox laughed, swatting Robert's knee.

It was then that Diciotto trudged down the stairs, fully dressed in clean clothes; shorts and a beater, in white. A grin on his face, swagger in full force, he very much acted the part of a fellow with an eighteen-inch dick curled up in his shorts. "Was that as good for you two as it was for me?" he asked, winking.

All it took was that remark to get Timothy laughing; Robert snickered and shook his head. "It was somethin', pal," the rat said.

"S'what they all say," the beaver chuckled, padding into the kitchen. Emerging again with a glass of orange juice, of all things, he sipped it and then said, "Who all's hungry, huh?"

After sharing a glance to one another, Timothy spoke up, "We could eat."

"Cool," Diciotto cooed, then downing what was left of his juice; it was only a small glass to begin with. "Up for a little drive? Nice little Italiano pizza place just up in town," said the beaver, switching seamlessly into a fine Italian accent midway through.

Given that his van boxed in Diciotto's car, Robert didn't hesitate. Standing up from the couch, reinvigorated at the prospect of food, he fished his keys out of his pocket and jingled them. "Starvin', here - let's do it."

--18

The beaver, fox, and rat sat around a small, square table with a large, round pizza dominating most of the surface. All around them (and right in front of them), the smells of baking dough and melting cheese enticed them. Perhaps the hungriest of them all after his "little" show, Diciotto shamelessly grabbed a slice and let it slop onto his plate. Joined shortly by his companions, he started to eat, and it wasn't until they'd all finished most of their first pieces that Robert spoke up.

"So Deech, man," he said, setting down his plate and grabbing for his iced tea, "'sides, uh, certain things about you, Timmy's kinda left me blank about you. What's your deal, mate?"

Diciotto shrugged modestly. "I'm none too interesting - just a good-for-nothing guy from Italy with a swingin' dick," he grinned.

Timothy snorted with laughter. "Couldn't have said it better myself."

Charmingly but coyly, Robert smiled. "I guess Tim did tell me all about you, then."

Diciotto had his own laugh at that, though a rueful one. "That's cold, mate."

"Meant nothing by it," said the rat, his smile losing some of its' edge.

Shaking his head and waving, the beaver said, "No worries, it's all good. I can take it as bad as I can give it!"

Once again chiming in, Timothy said, "You sayin' you can take a pecker deep enough to pop out the back of your throat, Dee?"

"Pah," Diciotto huffed, blushing and smirking. "Better be nice to someone payin' for your dinner and lettin' you sleep in his flat for free, mate."

Despite the barbs, the trio ate, and they spoke amicably, but playfully from time to time. When the three of them had eaten their fill (the entirety of the pizza, a few glasses of tea each, and almost an entire basket of hard-crusted bread sticks), Robert drove himself and the others back to the beaver's home.

With night already falling, Robert was quick to gather up his equipment. With Timothy's help, he packed the cameras back into their trunk; with Diciotto's help again, he loaded the unwieldy container back into his van.

Out in the driveway, standing in the last useful light of the setting sun, the trio bullshitted as well as ever. It wasn't all idle chatter and dirty jokes, but that was a good portion of it.

After a manly embrace from Timothy and Diciotto each, Robert promised the beaver, "I'll do what I can and get this stuff edited for you, yeah? You stay up late, Deech?"

Diciotto shrugged, and slipped his paws into his pockets. "With Tim around, I'd doubt if I'll be in bed 'fore 3 or 4 in the mornin'."

Robert nodded. "That ought to work. Gimme your e-mail, and just check it later tonight."

Even well after the beaver scrawled his e-mail address down on a scrap of paper for the rat, ostensibly so he could leave and get to work, they ended up chatting and laughing for a while longer. Robert didn't get into his van until well after the sun had gone down.

As the rat finally pulled out of the driveway, Timothy and Diciotto casually made their way back inside.

"Kinda chatty, that friend of yours," said Diciotto, but not maliciously.

"He likes you," Timothy said. "Then again, Rob likes everyone."

--19

That night, after much talking, a few movies, another meal, and a surprising lack of back-to-back masturbating, Diciotto glanced at the clock and saw just how late it was; 3:30 AM.

Standing up tiredly from his armchair, he regarded Timothy with a nod. "Wot'cha think, Tim? Wanna check?"

Grinning contritely, Timothy shook his head. Suddenly yawning (and spurring Diciotto to do the same), he said, "I'm sleepy, mate, just call me if the vids are there."

"Lazy damn foxes," the beaver sneered, "can't get 'em movin' unless there's cock about."

"You're damn right," was the last thing Timothy said as Diciotto stepped out of the room.

Diciotto sat down in bed, his laptop open in front of him. He went and opened up his e-mail, and truthfully, he didn't expect to see any results so soon, not with as much footage as they'd shot.

Surprising the beaver, and putting a grin on his face, were links to two videos in an e-mail from Robert, deech1.avi and_deech2.avi;_ Diciotto clicked one to start downloading it, and while it worked, he headed back downstairs.

Timothy snoozed on the couch, but Diciotto roused him with a shake to the shoulder. "Tim, man, shake it off! Rob sent the videos."

"Mrrf," the fox grunted, rubbing light sleep from his eyes. "All right, all ri-i-ight," he sighed, lazily getting up to his feet.

Following Diciotto back into his room, he sat on the bed. The beaver confirmed (with an almost gleeful enthusiasm) that the first video was finished downloading. Quickly, he started on the second one, played the first one, and turned up the volume.

Timothy and Diciotto sat shoulder to shoulder; the fox, yawning nonstop, was actually resting on the formidable beaver. Even as compelling as the video was, staying awake was a challenge.

In high-resolution, they saw the best of Diciotto's first round, the way he wrapped his meat around his wrists, rendered with surprising taste with fades between angles and velvet-smooth tracking. Not once was he out of focus; not even when Robert and Timothy both had been helplessly feeling themselves up.

The second video was no less impressive. Diciotto's auto-anal was portrayed with an interesting mix of tasteful roaming shots and gonzo close-ups, leaving no question, for the eventual viewers, as to whether or not it was real.

"Man," Diciotto mumbled, "your pal Rob knows his stuff, mate."

Halfway curled up and three-quarters asleep in the bed, Timothy agreed, "Mhm."

Tirelessly, Diciotto spent the next hour uploading both videos to every amateur porn site he had an account on, which encompassed more than he could count on one hand. It wasn't until 6 AM that he was completely finished, and when his daunting task was complete, he typed up the very last description, turned off his laptop, and set it on the nightstand.

Too tired and considerate to shoo Timothy out of his bed, Diciotto instead joined the fox, not intending to cuddle him, but as they slept, that was exactly what happened.

--20

Waking up just a few hours later with Timothy pressed up against him, Diciotto's first thoughts weren't about the fox, or even about the videos; he was hungry. Lightly rousing the tod, he said, "Hey, Tim - Tim, man, it's like 10 in the mornin'."

Lazily, the tod rolled out of bed and dropped his feet heavily onto the floor. Shaking off the sleepiness, feeling hungry, himself, he followed the beaver downstairs for a quick breakfast of eggs, toast, and orange juice.

Biting into marmalade-smeared toast, Timothy said (through a mouthful of food), "Check and see if you got any hits yet?"

"I just got up," Diciotto said, somewhat incredulously.

"So?" Timothy grinned, then swallowed. "Figured you'd be like a little kid on Christmas mornin', rippin' gifts open while mum and dad're still asleep."

"Heh," the beaver chuckled, setting down his fork. His plate was cleared, save for a few bites of egg. "Well, lemme wash these up, and--"

Timothy headed him off. "Nah, you go check, I got the dishes, mate." He grinned.

"Ah, thanks," Diciotto grinned, and then, with a spring in his step, he bounded off for the bedroom.

--21

As soon as his computer was powered up and online, he opened up every porn site he'd submitted to in different tabs. One by one, they loaded in, and one by one, he saw staggering numbers. Thousands of hits here, thousands more there; on the biggest of the sites, he'd garnered over fifteen thousand hits, and the reason why was simple: his video had been featured on the front page.

"Tim, come lookit this - and dial Rob up!" he called.

Shortly, Timothy scrambled into the room, his phone in his paw, although he hadn't called the rat yet. "Was it a hit?"

"You tell me," Diciotto grinned. "I mean - doin' a little rough math, I figure I got sixty thousand hits, just in four or five hours."

Timothy couldn't believe the figures, himself; he knew Diciotto would be popular, but this was crazy. "Hell, man."

"I know!" the beaver snickered. "Gimme your phone, lemme call Rob," he urgently said, so the tod brought up the rat's number and handed off the phone.

After a few rings, Diciotto heard a familiar, but painfully groggy voice: "Tim," Robert groaned, "you woke me, mate."

"Sorry - and it's Deech, not Tim. But Robert, man - the videos were huge."

Robert chuckled, and then he yawned, not even moving the phone away for it. "Take it you liked the editing?"

"You and half the bloody world," Diciotto grinned.

"That's great, that's really great," Robert said, pleasantly, but tiredly. "If you don't mind, I'm gonna pass back out now."

Diciotto started to say sure, but Robert hung up. Thinking nothing rude of it, the beaver tossed Timothy his phone back, and then he chuckled mischievously "I'm a regular celebrity now, eh?"

"I'll say," Timothy smirked. "Sheesh - you ought to read some of these comments. You got some admirers."

For a time, Diciotto and Timothy tried their best to read all of the comments (most of them were as simple as nice and awesome cock dude, but others were vignettes detailing just how well they'd fuck and suck Diciotto, or how envious they were), but they came in waves, and keeping up was impossible.

Shaking his head and chuckling, Timothy said, "Looks like you're red-hot right now, mate. I'm a little jealous!"

Diciotto chuckled coyly. "Heh, don't be jealous - you got to see it live, remember?"

Timothy shrugged. "True... After all of that, though, what're we supposed to do with the rest of the week?"

Shrugging too, Diciotto gave Timothy a fond bump with his nose. "I already proved t' you once that I'm always outdoin' myself - we'll keep busy."