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Hot Tips by Eightane

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"Gentlemeeeen... Your new king of the cage!! "

The ref held the moist victor's hand in his, high and plain for the crowd's cheering. Flash bulbs strobed on the rust-red scales and sapphire strands. There was hope the ex-challenger would wake up, sometime before the medics called him 'patient'. It was my hope, mostly. No man wants to be the guy who socked his foe to oblivion, Spinecrack '14's crown-match or not, with five thousand souls there to tell cops the range of shapes I'd tied on him.

"Toki, how y' feel right now? " He spoke it loud, brash and empty, as expected. "You suffered the third round, but came back with a vengeance. Tell me, for the folks at home, how'd you turn it around? "

He held the mike in my face; I resisted telling how he'd suffer if he minced more words. One hand, one finger, curved to taunt my ex-obstacle, heaped next to us; my blood ran sweet with mojo. "The old drop-'n'-fake, John. Let him wear out his arsenal, keep my wits and counter 'til he can't surprise." My one chance, it was now or never. "I wanna thank my team, the fans, my opponent for really givin' his all, makin' a great fight..."

He shook himself awake. Attendants fanned him, the ref kept my thick wrist aloft. Just a tad more for the mike. "Above all, thanks Flip, the best coach ya can't buy..." And one for the house. "... I love this town."

One hell of an ovation, longer than I've heard and called mine. The fire in my chest, in my gut, less from sweat in the ring than sparked thought. Having made it's simply good. But on top, fans deafen with esteem and their cash shelled out willing... You're not potential met, you're an investment. Idolized, from my clawed toes 'round my nine-foot rear-grown whipsword, up the tough, light curve of each horn. Such that a bod this hard - and close quarters with buff, breathy peers, the heat in contact - clocked in as only massive perks.

My breath caught up. My grin wound out and high, the house stood roaring. I tried not to let my 'stache drip sweat on his abs, poor kid was dealt enough. A mike lowered by its ceiling-pole, straight to my teeth. I can skip the acted part of wins... Shame the man I just beat, slam his efforts, maybe his momma. Flex for photos, descend the ropes, get mobbed by twenty journalists and thrice that many questions. If I coasted, it's fair. Say you wouldn't.

That image of drips on him stuck, though. I dished out stingers for the next news cycle, hiding strong new memories. They couldn't print much of the champ if he listed watching salty paths lick down enemy muscle. They could do without the times I breathed his musk up my snout and fought stiffening. Fate helped the grandmas who opened their Sunday edition; they were spared what I'd do if his round, firm cheeks or a Speedo-less front found my shower room. Ya might say this starts when the party ended... When 'highs' wore down and the job side had me back to gym.

"He stayed at it, didn't he." A towel draped my shoulders; from behind, that age-smoothed sound told it basic.

My tumbler turned up; some red Gatorade hit the spot, my ass on the stool he'd put by the practice bag. I sat tall; if one thing's more vivid than the contact, it's how the chump fell. "Yeah. All the way 'til I showed him he couldn't." I know a tiny wag moved the end of my tail... I felt, and he maybe saw, if it was why he went cautionary.

"Right, you dropped a man twenty pounds less. And when the next one's your weight and don't break?"

I took it well from the scruffy tiger. If he'd not test me, jab my pride, he'd be no kind of coach. I swung my neck a few degrees... He got to see my maw flap and debunk him, anyway. "My game's upped. You don't know what I pack away for trials." I slapped my hip; the sound was full and healthy. "You've not met Ark'."

Just thinking got my eyes fondly narrow. He smacked a palm on my shoulder-blade; buddyship from most, but with Flip it was meant as wake-up. Gruff, stoic, he spoke the part. "If he's like you say, he'd bust that grin to crumbs and you with it." Tiny pricks on my cheek; I always knew when his yellow-gray face fur was close, and it always threatened. "You ain't Wolverine. Thirty more on the bag, right now, if you don't want saltpeter in your protein shakes." My head tossed back laughing; he pushed off with his hand, swiped the towel, and I rose to make that bag wish it was still dust in a plant.

My eyes, mind, spirit joined forward; I whaled on its 'skin', and drew its blood; grains of sand seeped from seams I all-but tore through. Wonder how I'd look, this intense, caught on film for the biography they'd make down the road. And how he'd be in that, the same frame; three-hundred feline pounds, gut soft but arms my size, and the chest... Well, it stacked up more than fine. I smirked... The camera'd see him stooped and yelling harsh aid, but his view was different. Friend, tool and fan, at my back. Best he saw of me's the blue mane whooshing with the moves I put on equipment... Worst, well, you can't much use that when an ass this hard's the topic.

And he picked the right field... Years spent in my place, and DAMN can he bellow. "Low, low! At the kidneys! Y' fuckin' legs, tuck 'em! They don't sit and invite'chou, if you're thrown wrong it's over! " I took every piece he fed me... Glad my prey was lifeless, I made so many dents it was obscene. Two minutes passed, it fell to the floor and we were panting; I don't dare say he worked less, you should hear the punch in his command. Goddamn art that riled me like adrenaline. The bag rolled on concrete; gravity searched the best ding to rest it by. I strolled back over in a cloud of smug. His crow's feet, the silver chin-stubble, armtufts peeking out his 'Noni's Pub' tee, all sort of twitched. I knew my nerve would flee, and drag with it peace.

"S'about the best I've seen you go at that sack o' yard shit." He licked lips; his meaty hand dug in low on his back, scratching. "Not so bad."

My head 'pulsed' a nod; it had to beam the ego. "I'm red wine. I only get better."

He laughed so quick it nearly coughed... There was the deflator I'd feared. "If you didn't guard greenish. You put'ch'self out there like a sick tree, you'll find shears to cut you down. Never seen one get far as you that sloppy."

My tail felt shorter by a foot... He took my smile and shot it dead. In his way, shaming me nailed the point. I rubbed one fist in the other; arm veins bulged. "Stands to reason. Well since you don't mean flattery..." My knuckles wrapped in a palmstroke; my forearms felt antsy. "... You got a fix in mind?"

His eyes weren't distant, and their arch I read as serious. "I prescribe a match with real stakes. Tangle with skill, I mean a guy who knows the ropes more than his fuckin' body image." His jaw was open loose; at that point mine just dropped. We were toe-to-toe, I pressed a digit in soft tiger gut. It gave pretty nice to the push. "You're not saying what I think you are."

"I say whatever fits." He reached a hand out; my wrist was clutched, I went tight. So much for ideas that over 40 meant over the hill.

He wouldn't halt me, let alone like this. My tail curved high, with a scowl and firm lips. "You'll be mush before I'm done with novice-holds. It'd be a Mack truck against a tub o' flour."

My gaze blew past him; clean, elevated, the practice ring just screamed at me. His tug on my arm loudened it. "Shows the nil YOU know." His other mitt tagged his shirttail; up and in, wrinkling and lifting it. A set of views chained up; a brown tuft brimmed his fly, raked and feathered. It went well past his innie, a good ways up the beer-grown bowl, and by his chest it just exploded. Thick, dotted grey, but damn if his pecs didn't jump out anyway. Shape that hard and deep can't hide in manfur. I hid a wiggly tongue, and he capped his offer. "If you're that perched, you got nothin' to lose."

Had he ever seen me that sure... My head cocked, the 'if you say so' angle. He released me; next second, I was scrambling up the ropes, tail lashing the yard of concrete from gym floor to spar-level. Turning, I crossed arms to watch him come; he didn't run, nor climb with a fever... Loose and steady he met the side, at least 'til up and line-clung. I'd balk at a man like him not to stagger, twist up in the cords; I'd seen upstarts lose footing and the ropes respond with a face slam. But his low build careened by them... Up and over in a roll outta Hollywood. What he showed me was stuntmannish; When his shoes hit down, flat and firm, I got three inches of air. Caught myself, didn't trip from shock like I could've... But if he took me unstable, and the first armbar was yet to be, well, my skin could glow a little redder. Instinct took me, I bent down, rocked shoulders; when he closed in, lumbered past his zero-recovery time, he saw a game face and the will to pounce. It promised a fun time beating him... Might even take some work, and on that thick cat, how could I resist.

He rushed. I may've stood hard, but he shot zero-to-sprint like I've never seen. He clocked my shoulder; I held, and the bump waved through his gut. He could reach and grab my lats, but I could get in on him, and my hands dug on his hip mass and held. We conked brows; he was shown to be a 'Brut' man, and his late-eve stubble sent it through my sinus. He huffed; I spat, and it marked under us. He mouthed off. "Built that defense, I see. McCobb teach you that?"

I glared daggers through him; four weeks ago, I'd been bruised up by that... Gargoyle. Fuckin' lowlife, even if he held up like metal... Went down like butter... Tasted like... ... I blew up my whiskers in a cloud. "My work. My wins, my diet." I lashed the hindgrown whip. "My inheritance."

"You... Don't a-argue that hard..." He hinted straining; my right hand swept in, up to boundaries of ribs. They were buried, but hard. A part of me, brother to the tail- *cough*heh- tickled in cover. He put gullies in his browline, leering intensity. "Where were YOU in '78, Madison Square? Didn't... Think so..."

"Preach it, deposed one. You... Ever tangled with a tank like me?....." I trailed breathy to end. His forearms rocked into me; just about none of our space cushion stayed. Chest to chest, and his lower half had nowhere to go but straight on mine, abs, trail, bulge and the rest.

I think the first sweat was mine. Down my temple, split by rust-skin and tufts of cyan. He glanced up with slight eyeglaze, like he'd have reached up and licked if not guarding. I pushed in; I felt his balance check, and I saw the first good exploit to cram down on him.

My ankles put in from their thickness; I blasted him with gravity's shift. He took it, unsteady. His parry, his size, had to wobble his bread basket. Mine twitched; shaken, yeah, but getting in on urge. My lycra felt a size tighter. "I'm big-league... You cream puff... You'll never..." I willed more strength in my legs, like pushing on a coiled spring. "... Live me down!!-"

How I managed to take him with the next shove, I can wonder. Hell, from his face you might think he let me. But next thing, I felt the yank 'n' twist; fucker grabbed me out my own tackle to pin. All I know's he had the time; it took all of me to tip him offset and fall. I was only half-pinned; more would be impossible. But my face, and his shoulder, met chin and arch. Two things came fast to me: one, instinct had my legs kicking and tail slipping to pry at him infallibly. As for the second... A few inches south of shoulder blade, not all of a tiger was cologned. Musk hit me from deep in arm's root... I was so where I didn't expect to be, mopped by mangrunge at the site of taste and smell.

He had foresight; I worked him loose at the thighs, but he grabbed my rear handle on retreat. He fell off, I rolled up on his lats, he kept me like a pulley from bearing down. My face went back to his; tiny beads welled in my chest fuzz, and if I could be hotter, they'd have ironed his field o' pec curls. I went to wrap a leg on his; he lunged up from, dead-serious, his neck... Wide and strong, it butted me, and the dizzy stirred a throb, a rapid heartbeat, and parts low and growing. If I knew what I felt, when he read my woozy breaking, lifted us and got to my level, his shorts worked no more to hide the message. Either side, strength and will, we were comparable.

'Damn-good match ', my mind floated over, coming back online to fight-alert. I caught him just shy of setup for a pretzel hold; Instead, I had him at the thighs, and adenaline gave my arms what the big-ass guns begged for. I squeezed in, judged his mass and center, and lifted.

It mighta worked without distraction. I got him in the air; at its best my snout dragged on his midriff, that smooth hide. Where it shifted after, barrel-chest to his barrel o' manfat, I shifted to panic. I could hoist him, yeah, and balance... But when his hand snapped on my ear, pulling, it soured what I'd missed. Rules, in any form, didn't fight with us. I yelped, gnashed my teeth and staggered; if nothin' else, I'd fall as tough and sure as those I knocked down. A nagging lit my brain; some flared memory, not exactly how I met a gator-hybrid, but calling back threats, those in his wrists, ankles, all parts else where his girth marked me as cannon fodder.

He crashed on my hips, heavy as hell. I looked up, and the smile he flashed was the tip o' the spear: cast down, stubble framing his lips, the affirmation. I fought myself; the twist had me sneer and struggle, but his look - all it said of me under him, a li'l helpless - peeled off a layer. Gone was the plan to respect him; if he held nada back, and I'd seen, felt and smelled the presence, he'd get it like all my old clique.

Shit, guess I clashed with a psychic; he mussed my hair like he knew there was time. "Congrats, kid, you set a record. Best that classic's ever worked."

I turned twice my norm' red... Made my tail a whip, and got to him at last, lashing his nude back. Had to leave welts from the steam of a 'kid ' my size, taunted... Walrus-lookin' beefcat would pay for that. His face seized; the crow's feet went deep, and I talked all the shit I was worth. "Last time it will. After me, you'll sit on nothin' 'til it snows. Ever wish your ass could wail..." He grunted how only older guys can, that throat-brogue... Pain did him a solid, or at least that's how his dick basket changed, a little every strike I put across those lats. Mine raced him on rising, huggin' his; Fuck, I had to gasp, pressing meat on my mentor, him punished, chubbed and crowded.

A true fighter, he took it stout; next to him I was fine, my hands fresh and free. When better to dart 'em down, rip off his pants button, air out his zipper. The tab came down, my eyes froze on it. He never lost control; another breath, my hands were pried back and he rose to pancake me. Another damn time I choked from having shit on the brain: that one shining stay of open view. His briefs, their pouch, fanning musk to my nose; the handful o' curls that licked the front flap signed how manly they stocked.

It's strange to this day I could roll away. Half-implausible, my wits were blurred and my drakehood a kickstand. Bumpy, for that last part, to dodge him, hit my toes and launch. He slapped the ground, cussed a blue streak and moved to pounce like wild relatives. No need for cameras; his face cast how pro I pulled it off, leaping out of a roll, falling to the ropes and slingshotting. Sure the force was frail, but I've clotheslined with slower. Down so easy, but there he went, my thick arm to a thicker neck. Even he'd not fight the power, smacked down with a rumble. My teeth chattered; drops danced on and under my pecs. Some bounce in my jawline, and a meter south, where I felt it swing at air so low I musta flashed the base, fat ol' dragon hog in blue brush. Not that it did the lycra favours to start with; Good thing undies can't feel, I'd be a punk for puttin' mine through that stretch and pressure.

I turned in time to recline on the ropes, arms up, their blue bushes aired. Panting, sweaty and proud; mouth wet, veins pumping. The fucker still got up like a cheetah... So sturdy, still soft in prime real estate. On his worked-up sneer I saw joy. His shorts didn't raise with him... He stepped out each leg, and tight cotton alone wouldn't hold it, stop its worse air-dribbling. I'd have to be mute not to say what I did, the idea that wormed outta me. "Make it two-for-three. Lose yerr briefs, tap out or blow that load, a point gone for each."

His chops stole the show curving up how they did. "That's it, kid, set'cherself up to lose." His eyes darted down, I felt the draft on my bottom inch... Fuckin' yellow hammock hadn't rolled back up on my goods, and the harsh light over us played on its sweatslick, daring him to count off a point. He dug a barbed tongue on his lip, but he lent mercy. No marking me on it; honestly he waited so to rush in and capture 'em personally.

So he rushed, anyway. I steamed out my nostrils; his three-foot gallop showed how taut the bulk hung itself, and as for that H-word, Christ almighty the give in those jockeys. His best work so far was just bein' and driving my throb. He tried a switch-armbar; I went under it and wrapped kitty armbeef in my elbow. Veins hiked up through his fur; he strained, I pressed, our fangs bared and snouts dapped. You might ask why they didn't stay touched, fuck knows he was closer than fuzz on my chin. He's a tiger... I paid for not minding that, when he opened wide, sunk a nibble in my neck and the half-strength bite stole my power. His arms - damp, thick and root-musked - slipped free, and damn what came next.

Never seen a man hit gazelle-speed starting ringcenter. Nor one push his foe to the ropes, those I'd used to clock his gullet, and bounce so he's behind the momentum. He shot back, I shot forward and high. Older, half-squat and all-chub, he threw me over him. I was airborne, spastic, a starfish where all five points flailed. I only knew which way was down once I hated to; my back burned in three lines, ricocheted from the far fence, and he met to mow me down. Before, I'd chopped him with a tricep, but through my frantic eyes he bowed arms like a bear hug; chopped my wingmuscles, went limp at his thick legs and fell the fuck on me.

I wheezed, every ounce of air spewed by his gutcheck. Agony, by the moist, heavy sensei laying weight after bombing my scaled abs... I hated whining, but more than that despised his breath. Deep, snickering, sailing past my cheek, up my nose... Fucker made me know how it smelled if we were liplocked; his stubble combed my whiskers. He'd let a tiny groan, right when we dropped; his crotch tackled mine, and no part of me, thighs, tail, chest, could be as hard. His own fault, that fuckin' bare-chest bear of an old legend, that his sack took a dong-mallet. Yet there I stayed; no upper hand, no him-rollin'-off and tending it... I'd sure tend mine later, striking his loins meant I knew just how those nuts were shaped and big. I had to fight it. My tail did wags at the tip, always when a clear lube's on track to leave my dickhole, but I took that quakin' asswhip and wrapped him. Cat's shin up to his hip, constricted, and the barber-pole setup put me straight to wipe tip on Flip's willy. He seethed, holding on, brave but slipping. I'd scoped his globes, and now learned his meat; the yellow outline of my wang, the pit-notch where it rest in snake's eye, dry no more.

He snarled; I had him in the best of my legs, high 'n' tight. Fucker dripped from cat shoulders to mine, that was sure helping the south lands. "Oh, my bad, what's this about... Madison? " I ended with a nose flick; he twitched, coughed and bombed my crotch. So I did feel sorry, with adding to the wardrobe lay... Aching my wet-end inches.

He shot back with burning spice; any louder mighta unnerved, and any closer to my face he'd be on my lip. "Yeah... When I's already... Further... A household name... Cuss like you would lick my boots just to... Throw his n-name out there..." The strain... Fuck yeah, he didn't get past it humblin' him. His leg so stiff inside my red vine's hug, useless to stop my tip. I'll call myself a jackass... I tickled, slapped and even dragged the end all up him, pointed strokes for his nut basket. I wanna know what brand he wears down there... Awes me that it never ripped as hard as big'un throbbed it. That, and me shifting in prep to break out, didn't matter; he rattled on. "And get maimed and shipped back to the minors, like you'll be." He held on me like a Minnesota hug... Damn-near could split my back with force like his. A few-second impasse, holding each other back, and I slowly blew it up on his crotch. He struggled not to go off, distraction invaded, I kicked up and rolled him.

I dared to stand, fine 'til halfway-up, then he chopped my legs and downed me. More than it would sound by that alone... I got as far as my knees and he front-sliced me, so I spun. 180, feet-to-head on a musky cat. How the fuck did he follow so fast, shift to snag my ankles and hoist me. I could twist out, if not lacking time... Fate had me lifted and dropped. Piledriven, the shock wave down my center, all the way to the taint. Moist, fuzzed and in the dark, only it was often safe on m e. Not now, when Flip stood me back and put this head in leg lockdown. His freak-size hand paddled my prostate, and I twisted up more for less leeway.

Understand the wallop he sank in every swat. Three strikes and the heat came to my cheeks... Four, five and the pain sucked. I couldn't lay loose if you paid me, and the bat was rock-hard pre-spitting. No matter where he hit, my sack bickered more, full, twitching. I had to listen, too... 'N did Flip have some gems. "You li'l shit-fer-brains. Took me up on this, I just reeled in a helpless cod." The shadow shifted on me; fucker looked me over like a turkey roast. "Not a bad-sized one... Considering..." A reprieve from ass-whaling, his hand all rough on my sack curve. Fuck his wide knuckles, tough skin, calloused creases. Fuck him showing me up, not a taste of respect. I'd come back... I'd make that sweaty soft-batch cookie sorry. He slid a nail on the center o' my gooch, went straight back to paddling... The pain started bad as it had peaked, and I couldn't shut my ears to him. "Too bad it won't last you. I've done my share o' young pups who wanna be wolves... Showed 'em what they aren't, you're just another for the count."

I dangled, shivering, done in on smack after smack, wobbling my bulge. Damn I hated him, and in the same breath, wanted nothin' more than to square up by plowing his smooth, matured inset. He denied me that, flogged my underside, reared back and bellowed joy to juggle red sack by proxy. "I'll give whut'chou need, kid. Bend you into shape... Get you flat, slide up it... All you fight for, many times as your ass is kicked..."

Fuck him. SO hard. Now the flashbacks would focus; he and legions' worth of teasers always found me, but none came before him like the blue Aussie. And if he came anything close to that high-set bar, gahddamn...

I roared, the hits kept coming, scorching my buns. "You... Just... Wait..." It's seriously my best at the time; you try a zinger when the punishing's like that. But if he could howl on through the pain, I could double that. "'Bout time... You remembered more... Than just... Falling on shit..." He knocked my prostate, checks from his palm's base. I laughed through the sting, fuck knows how. "... Take your... Geritol this morning? "

You'd think steam left his ears. Strong enough to hold me one-handed, and the other quit popping me, but rest on the bulge. And squeezed. And felt it up 'til every nerve screamed being far-past overhard. "Takin' you out, string bean... Lean with nothin' to back it up..." He swept my dick, fingers playing it, shallow... Hellacious writhes took me. "Can't stand up to me... Or keep this point..."

He squeezed again... I felt tingles, what I shouldn't chase but craved to. Ol' cat went to make me shoot, and he knew how to try. I winced... My jaw swung open, quivering... I thought past it, stored force and brought in my free leg. Up it streaked, A quick 'whap ' on his chin stubble and a rough, dropped exit for me.

No more goofin' around, either of us. I spun 180 comin' out, my tail swooshed under him. Still a hyper sonuvabitch, he jumped my sweep, but landed angled; a window for me rising, charging into him. I was at his throat, crashing chest on his gut, the heavy center of grav'; two lucky hits and I cornered him, mashed him on the rope pushing in from rugged pecs. He panted... Fuck yeah, he was wearin' down, shiny in his grey-specked coat. I jigged him with a lunge, he braced on the pole; just what I needed to clamp a double grip on his nip buds. His chin flew up, frozen in yowl... The twist started, and I wound it hard.

Felt like I near-crushed his chestbuttons, wide as they were. Healthy to boot, the colour I drew up through the mashing. If he'd looked on me, not been gripped for torture, the grin he'd have seen lining my jaw. "Slow wits, champ. I can bust you in my sleep, you think I don't know it." I just-so-casually swept in from the waist down, mated our sausage... Holy fuck, his wanted out, shouting every pound of his heart. Mine answered; I strained through it, mind on him but morphed in the moment. "Other stuff I can bust... You'll damn-sure know..." Right then woulda been smart to steal his lips, take 'em in mine... I didn't help shit to think how he'd taste if my tongue barged right in and met its dance twin.

Whaddya know, it's his mouth to thank for being spared. "... Yours... I'll have you blow it a-all upside me..." He nodded down with the chin that stayed high. "... That'll be a... Paper fan before I lo-ohhhhse my cool..."

No man's sweated harder. I was pouring it, squinting, damning the image he outlined. Better brother to a pearl necklace... I pictured its shell-shape over his curve, cream spilled on a beach ball... He leaned down, tried to catch my brow with jawbone and glanced off. One crass mistake for waking me, getting my hands hot... Sparking the soon-ago trash he talked, the fresh-bruised ass o' mine. My fingers were his shame burning back at him. They rolled his nips, circled and dragged them... A few stray, stiff hairs came along. His arms were shuddering. Strength-robbed muscle, all over him, so I thought.

"... Red-assed whippin' boy-"

His words loudened. Really fit how he blew forward, on a beeline for the left of my chest. I'd catch in an instant if he pushed me straight on, but his whole force and half my guard met at dragon haunch.

Close to then, I made a sound that can't translate. On the bridge of gasp, groan and grunt, a drake whose muse swung me to the ropes and bombed my hips with arm meat. Normal matches the poor sap to get hugged went in the air, his foe standing. I lay to the woven fence; he bent near the waist, head low on the front of me. Didn't fear a hand, leg or tail... Why bother, if the fuckwad knew a secret of mine, pertinent when mouth's above my pipewarmers, breathing on them, quick and harsh heat waves.

I missed the crowd. Pined for roars, cheer, even heckling. None of that around to distract me, sweep me back from godly edge. I know the groans went harder, losing shock, upping weakness. I'd had his chest in my hands, wrenched, but fooled no one. Haired nips could blush, go tender as sweat dropped on them, but he shook it. Finally I saw the powerhouse, the legend in huskular flesh; the best case for my wheeze, and all it blabbed about the part of me that hung on, toughed it out but would bow to those like him. His air flowed on me, nose and lips to a drooling dick in peril. Hate and love for its feeling, SO much of the second. Glimpses of Ark, of hurt and bliss, had aligned.

He bound my hips, drove his grip like hellfire, degraded me. Yells gargled in my throat; I heard the smile in him patronizing. "Sing, boy. I trained you and I'll trash you. Ball you up and eat'ch for brunch." For all the 'brawler' in that, his head dipped like reverence. Not humble, but to drag his lip so slight on my bulge, side-to-side, tickling warm. If he'd mashed in my waist, I'd tolerate. This ruined me... I hardly laid eyes on him, his bulk dapper and ripe. All the sudden it eased; my hips were freed, his hands crawling up from them, frontside. I won three seconds to whimper; he detoured, his mitts brushed manly blue, a trail to my chestcoat. Any pride in the fact I'd test him back, get him galled by wanting me, packed up when those cat hands took a tuft of chest hair, each strong and pulling. My carpet, what I'd ever-liked and boasted on, weaponized and turned on me.

"AGGHHH-H-" I quit the force to my sound, its clout lost... What I made were crumbs of old bravery, cries of a whelp in red scales fought by greater skill. First I fell to speed like his... The tufts, my bod' sprigs he let go, throbbing the roots, and in a flash he had me off the ropes, carried high by the asscheeks. Light sways'd brung me to concentrate; pain in my pecbush, my hips, in the lycra I was shocked didn't snap like rubber bands with how inner push imposed. My eyelids slitted; I looked down on him, even smirked slight to see the lash lines on his thick-ass back. He gabbed again; this time I'd head him off, just let him start before I proved bein' still in the game.

"Hahaahh, squeal. In five minutes I'll be 'daddy ', your fruit-mouth on my juUUHHN!!-"

Yeah, I added bruises to the sum, more lines where I whipped his furred skin. Made him stop and bluster; some part of his deep crackle, perfect bass failing, just made it harder on my crotch... In my fuckrod, never quietly still. Courage harmed me, or was drawback-one for return of offense. The second - and why I'd soon wish for twenty times the press downstairs instead - didn't wait. He lifted higher, spun me midchest, and dropped me to a Joker Driver.

I lost five seconds... Last thing before it, my head fell between his legs, hammered the floor. I woke up to my forehead like a migraine; my 'stache raking ground where feet sweated, soaking it, salt-mansmell on my nostrils. His steel-hard thighs at either cheek, his briefs so close to me the fronthole-peeking curls flicked my chin. My rear up high, my taint pricked; f'in jackhole pulled down my ass cover, scraped stubble on my bulged gland and wormed his tongue up the first inch of my star.

My bod slithered. I arched in all directions, curved my shoulders, beat my heels on his spine. Too protected, and my barked moans weren't effecting. "RRRGHHH!! Y-You fff'ck'innn BAS-t'rrd!! "

He Frenched it... At any time he could thrust it in, wash my taintmound from behind, and I'd shoot... He stayed high, and what I got just tickled. I tried butting him for real, busting his lip... He knew when to turn and let it wobble his cheek. Martial-arts-level reflexes, and on the sling back he shoveled with tonguetip. My one claim right then was to fragmenting his taunts. "Let... Go, like... You wanna... Give it up... Yerr gun's gonna... Goo it... Coach 'Bastard' makes yew... Jizz your undies... Whine 'n' quiver... An' I'll roar... Fill you... Up yerr ass..."

It wouldn't end... Goddamn was I weak if it took that long to counter him. I gasped; kicked out, while every molecule breathed passed his dick hair or plain-gusted its filtering. Six heeltaps it took to raze his temple and unlock me..., 'Til the last quarter-second I took oxygen flavoured by a thick, mature meow'shroom. I tried climbing assfirst; he half-drove me to the ground again and fit one thrust of tongue in my cave, a single flick then tickling again. My balls screamed like ten of my voice... Longed to gush, he wouldn't let me. Curse after curse I slung in hums... He gave all to make me go first, but not when I needed. He dropped me... The dirty bitch took his tongue back, and while I heaped on the floor half-fetal he slammed down, pinning my shoulder, seeing I'd be capped snout-to-ditch in his acrid pit.

Many had conditioned me to verbal jabs... I'd berate the guy, he'd needle me back, status-quo. I debased Flip alright, but while cupped in a nosejail where his crowding hair drenched sweat on me. Lies weren't packed with use. "You got nothin'... Fuckin' around... Has-been..." I squashed the crack in my voice... His arm, the stench it held right where he held me, it's all my nose could breathe, like clouds of salted funk. Under him, my toes bent and straightened, Speedos half-down and almost snapping. "Enjoy this... Your last breather..." Didn't let on how that infused me, spice up my nose, from the pores of real stamina.

He tilted head, condescending; that and his laugh, a bitter tag team. "Damn do you pose. You talk breath, I'm not the one whose air supply's gendered." I knew what he meant; my legs wobbled and recovery dimmed. I wanted a paradox, to strike him down and show him youth's yield in me, but to wallow in themes he'd want... Bow to my elder, take what his broad ego'd have me for. He grew that, shoving crotch on my innie, subduing me. "Think I'm washed up, there's nothin' on me washed. Go on, lick a real bruiser."

I... I had to. My tongue shot out, plowed his pitbush, spread on the cushioned wads. Tiger skin, wet, warm, noxious... I forgot myself... Void of a proper count, fuck knows how many times I'd lapse 10, lose like hell. He tarped those pounds on me... I worked his pit like a dog, as literal as a tongue rakin' manzones can say. Down, serving, but not out... I kicked at his shins, felt him shake more and more 'til his arm broke pin. I couldn't pick him up, God no, but lifting him to kneel was reachable. I saw he suffered, legs tense behind him, arms around my beefed lats... Our knees together, guns putting the squeeze. All six: my two arms, his pair, and stiff, tall snakes.

My sneer lay on his face; our 'brows fingered; he grimaced like so little kept him back, delayed the end of combat and start of full-on manlove. Downstairs, so little did... His white cotton and my latex were why we weren't frotting, raw-sliding dicks. Our hips hinted; we pressed each other consciously, arms bulged to our wrists for twinned strength, but the fertile grounds had will. Our junk scraped... His felt comparable, inarguably as big, a weight like all of him. What luck that I'd be minding that when it happened; whether our fun dislodged it, or all that pressure he drove on them, my ears pricked with his at the ripping sound. He looked down, and deadly-curious I did the same, leaning back as we found the truth... His skivvies, the front-flap, blew out. I stared on the hardest, fattest mansicle... A giant vein pronged and up his inches, moist to outbrag his pit land. If anything, heavier, and rank. The smell just clouded me, gone nowhere but to dam my nostrils.

I think... My brain creamed itself. The outline of my cockhead, never clearer... You'd read my pulse from the end. I know he did, not by eyes... While I gasped, gawked at what hung on him, he laid siege on my dick with hand sinew. Clutching, rubbing, pressing it; the force'd bless me, dull pain but twenty times the pleasure. Nerves came alive in his palm; they cheered to my noggin from his tough caress. His other hand passed my sack, lifted balls, cruised by and mopped my taint. He looked back up to me, aggressive, broiled in lust. I bared fangs, we pressed again, this time standing, faces point-blank all the rise. Never lost contact, his massage on my knob or my hand I'd wrapped on him, stroking. Somehow we held clean slates; we'd downed each other, but neither gave out, our loads were yet to blast, and just like his briefs were technically on - the wristthick hammer and its mancurls through the torn flap not counted - mine were true to the front, though broke in the rear. Dangling, exposing hole to drafts, and worse, his stubby thumb.

Call me aloof not to know it was lined up. I learned when it stuck in, to the hilt, where his tongue had fairly primed. I winced; he sniggered, yanked my bulge, endangering the 'clothes' to pull off. His tongue flapped out, warping words. "Fella, get ready to lose..." His fattest grabber plucked my gland from inside... Harpstrings, with my groaned note the music. My pipe filled his hand, tugged away just like the briefs, but one was moving. Every limb of mine stoned up in twitches. Elastic brushed my root, my strands, the salt-dew. Not gonna say whose palm his felt like. "... And empty..." For how I stood unshielded, it could be worse; helpless, but he didn't fare much better. Taunts were short, he sweat bullets, and that cat schlong throbbed so fat and petrified fuck knows how it ached him... Legs even micro-shimmied each time his blood pumped through the monster. Air rushed in on my dong. Cool, so refreshin', but I snarled. A poker face, so denying him to reduce me like he strived to, nor own my wails like the bandanna'd herp I pictured more and more. Harder than it could ever sound.

There went the first point, and my lycra. He chuckled; so low, vibrant, 'til it fell to wobbling. The shorts weren't lobbed away, or dropped; his thick-ass arm shoved them up in my face. Ground the center on my snout; I was breathing my taint musk. How I didn't collapse, and faint into the best dreams, who knows. He might as well've hypnotized me... When his other arm pulled me in, brought his pecker's side down mine, you couldn't call me alert. Or still... I shook to feel him get there, rubbing on me.

Our veins dapped, middle o' the frot. I barely knew I even held up against him; he breathed in my ear, down my neck, near my barrel arms. He jibed and we traded throbs. "Think you're special... Come in here, lookin' to bust up thirty years of background. Pretty boy, Whadda you got..." That hardest word came with his cock whisked down mine, hella-sped. Couldn't make better contact, and I couldn't shake the rafters with louder wails. Not just wanting it, fiending to shoot and give nuts, dick and body sweet relief, but aggressive, enraged that my beef was weak, strength crumbling, just to have him in my face. Score was dragon 2, cat 3 and I was tempted so hard to make mine 1. He pushed to win me, drug his stubble toughly down the cheek, but he'd only chipped away. He'd have one more sentence preachin' ignorance. "... Triflin' arms, a thin gut, tail's not even what it's cracked up to be, and the crack..."

His hand worked down my hips, hit my leg's high seam, dug in and was DEEP in these buns. Some long damn fingers, I thought, and got expanded at the ring, his furred knuckles opening me. It's a sorry squeak I made. My arms were brought to life and flash-hugged him. T'weren't affection - not for ass-dredging with finger joints, gouging my hole to where he'd fit a pipe - though he'd just assured where I could've jabbed my tongue in ripened pit hair. But our meat parted; the rest of me'd rocketed up, and in well-timed leap I went vertical, planted my tail, pushed it back and threw fall forward on his chest. He hit down like a meteor; I'd lined up the more tingling parts of undertail with his weapon. A foot's worth of solid bliss hit my nerves from there to sweaty hole. I leaned forward, propped myself on one hand, so close above his head, his lips, his hot breath. I counted, in a way, by slapping dick in his mancleavage.

Got up to eight, maybe, I was lost in feeling how his ribcage rolled and my tail with his throb too far from in me. He snarled and whipped the HELL outta my ass cheek; stung like bees, but I roared back and plopped this joystick in his chest hills. My grin bullied him, so bright and while I dogged his muscle mounds. "You codgers, all talk and no do. Or you can, and I'm just too much to fight." It won't hurt, I'd thought with cruise in his pecsweat, to repurpose facts of what he'd done to me.

Wrong. He kicked out like a mule, and from cannon-thighs that sonic boom of a push curved me up through the air, in thrashes graceful as a lame duck. I cleared him by plenty; in my eyes the landing spot approached, and in my mind ran "NonoSHIT!!-". I twanged the top rope, armpits and a neck on the line, and it sure pushed back to throw me belly-up. I more slid than crashed, but the burn of that was the low road, and I arched up to air scales and swampy trails. He'd tumbed up, swung around, and in what musta looked like a tornado - or the only damn ballet move you can 'man' up - he got on one knee, ass by my temple, core above, and reached down to pick me up. One arm under my lats, and that dirty fucker, the other hand a spade in my pubes, grabbing to yank my rear airborne so he could scoop under it. Half-a-second, but my yell strung swears well-after.

My ass hit his diving arm, both ends were over him and I was taken, sore, pent up, dizzy. So close to hatefuckin' his big, splendid cave, but not destined to. So reminded of vast swaths of a 'gator past. I perched on his wrists like a faint damsel; he lifted me to suit that brand of frail. I gurgled a bitty whine... Neck and armditches stung, my back burned, soreness itched my bush and pressure crippled me, the simmer in my beercan, up my snail trail and oozing hot slime. He didn't even look; all my stern, pent fuming lay moot. I'll give that his pride was a legend's; how he smirked forward, wise of what he'd done to my arrogance. "What'chou've failed to do... Is gimme signs you know what a fight is." As if dizzy didn't matter, I felt the breeze, tattling I was bein' turned. Paraded like a piece o' hunted meat. In my state, I could shut eyes tight to bar the spasms and see the crowd I imagined, screening, heckling my submission. With or without 'em, it unfolded.

I just hope a drop of mansweat hit his eye from my lat, while he tossed me inches off his shoulder, racking me like I weighed two pounds. "They send green, slow bags o' mulch in shorts your way. You'd wither in my day. W'hell it's STILL my day..." He quarter-pitched me, pressing my back how it's hardly made for. "I OWN the day. I stake claim to you beanpoles. Witless, weakassed... Less in every way..." I whined; some spittling sounds tried to question what that meant, but he brandished me high, flung in rolling hands and I spun airborne, a full revolution. then two. Queasy rushes through to my face; the lurch played on my earflaps, his critique. "Count yerr lucky stars you get t'even lick up my damn seed..."

I floated down, back level with his chest, shuddering for mindgasms alone.

His face I'd seen before, on simpler thugs, when a knee'd come out 'n' I'd be let go to meet it. Why should I bet this different; I was soon above his head, not a shock. I tensed my low lumbars; kept my eyes narrow, told my mind to shut out the oncoming. A lot of help that did... All I had to dwell on were his power, agility, burly shape and parts. I felt arresting throb; my dick cussed me in its way, not letting off. If I'd noticed right then I dropped sideways, not down, it couldn't matter. Safe from his knee, I got arced down, dropped right, neck at ground-zero. By the books, a Burning Hammer. Elbow drop to the chill of the mat.

My hands clawed up. Legs beat the floor once, then set as stiff and sweat-mired as the peter on its blue quilt. My face to the skylights, lungs hacking low, sad notes like bleeding a balloon. From ears down my ass bones, to toes and their flicking ends, utter pain. All from Flip. From that big galute, frosty and tall from where he'd laid me, flopped my carcass, a sleeve of young B.S. In due time the full sentence hit my brain; Gawd did I wrench up, showing how high and sub' my man-voice could be dragged. My head raised, every inch of me tensed; I moved like I was cummin', and curse how the fuck I wasn't. My one reprieve, the sole smile I'd work up, came the eighth second after, when I processed looking up his thighs, the crotch time mellowed. He went from mugging how he schooled me to a baffled brow; his focus switched from nude, aching dragon to something amiss. The briefs - offwhite, dense with older man's scent, lay on his feet. Lost in the throw, and yeah, that croquet-bat in veins and hoodskin made us even.

I squeaked a laugh, pitiful, as he wore a mix, rage, regret, embarrassment, his fat head dripping down my thigh. He groused; it roared off the walls of our sanctum. Spots banded my thigh, lining up to my sack; one strayed to sprinkle my seam, center-nuts. If I wailed, chucked my feet up and air-swam, it's all I could do.

Until he turned. By one side of majestic moobs, he swung down and tried a pin. Any more of these and I wouldn't have a prayer... May've hurt in every end, but I put these size-twenties toward him, heels posed to bar his shoulders. He could sweep a li'l north of 'em, and that I predicted came true, but now the plump red thighs fenced him off. The genius fuckin' wedged on my strongest front; he winced, bared some pearly whites and took my scissor press from on high. I think my eyes twinkled; damn I'd turned the tables, and he strained to coincide. I earned my bastard grin. "If the Row guys could see this..."

Steam could rise from his stubble; veins sure rose on his chest, bristling fur rows. "They're a... Lifeline far away... All yerr l-lowlife, swole, dick-for-days assburglars can't... Save you." Trash, every word, when he's suspended, easy pickings for my tail. I sneaked it up behind, levitating, knowing anywhere I chose, strikes had leverage. He didn't have to know it forced all the blood up past my beltline, my legs, my blued package. I courted doom, gave my cream gun license to betray me, but it held. God help me, holding three-hundo solid cat poundage, salted beef, it held.

And then he wrapped his arms in my ankle hair. Fingers past, on the pinker soles, crawling.

Three seconds I'd been fickle, two too long. Nine feet of wooly drake whip withered to the floor; I convulsed, yelps and guffaws, the tickles shooting up me from footpads. He lost the support of my leglock; he gained a slam on my ribcage, his thick pecs right on the peak of mine. But the fucker wouldn't lay on me; nah, I was checked but not pinned. Reaching back, he snatched my ankle, I was dragged back and chin-grabbed. Bent to a "U", red, wet and bouncing dick on the floor, splashing uncoloured lines. while he sat on me. I let the lowest, saddest li'l groan you'll ever hear from me... My swampy crack seat a true monster, so on-rock I think he stamped my cherry cheek with veins.

He didn't dole out the time to even grouse in pain. If I steamed the air with cuss and praise combined, it's with his meatclub dogging I at long last snapped. Not bodily, though my spine argued hard with that. Dangling my junk, a wet tree drizzling nectar, I growled and listened.

"Soak the floor. Spritz all the clear-coat you want." I knew he saw what my 'shroom chucked all under us; my growl half-squealed a spell, I'm sorry to say. He had mocking to do. "I'll drop one hand, let you straight. You won't budge. Not when you'd stay and bust white flood all up your trail..." His sweat traipsed my spine, running up it. "... If I'd let you. Nah, creampuff..." He yanked me up each end, one last ratchet. Can't believe the bitch I'd sound like when my lungs clapped empty. The bastard near-winded me, banned me to cum, knew just how to use pain so he could ride my thick ass and season me. I'd be slick for a breakin, if his beerkeg stayed raking my crevice. He rocked, it lubed, I heard. "Relief ain't yours 'til I crater this young buck chute!! "

Rapid shoves knocked my buns. I groveled, less-sissy than I felt. Musta liked what he heard, to lower my legmeat halfway while his scold shadowed. "Where's your game now. What wile you got tucked away... Tha'could hope to shake me..." He plowed veins up my crack; it read cat dick like braille. His trash talkin' slurred... Fucker drooled, the drops tattled it. One hard thrust through my ditch, a groaned laugh from him, and my shins were free to fall, clunking the floor. I'd not rise. He put it in reverse, drug a head that felt leg-thick to my hole. Bastard kissed my twitchin' star with a wet tip. Pain had departed, maybe five, maybe six whole breaths. Takes no psychic to know it would show again; when my whimper whispered, he dug it in. Slow, hard, punching me.

Goddamn do fingers curl when a thick daddy storms your burrow.

"Allllrriiight..." From roar to rumble; clearly my bod gave just right, hot-stretching in his stable thrusts. He brought dickspat lube down the o-ring, where sun can't pray to shine. He defined steady, and I pitched a little, yowled bliss-yelps, resented his pleasure. A mentor's cock pushed its last inch inside... Butterflies as high as my chest hair. Want a clue of the measure, think on that, him wearin' a red, sweaty glove, so deep the pec fuzz bristled. No guy'd snaked so far, deep-dicked to the point of swelling me, since... Ark could take notes.

I carried for a minute-on. "AAAAAGGGH-Hhhhhhh... FFFFUUHHCK-KK... OHHH, OHHH!!! " Short 'bonk's set in, my jaw on the floor, self-dropped on cycles to shut out sore hole. He snickered; my misery, spotlighted. I fought so damn hard to cloak it; just one of a string of failures, but how could I not squirm with that monster shunting me, sizzling, freakish size and strength. Shit I'd never been fucked so hard. Not overfast, not a blur of heft like he'd come to me. Power in control. Total male, wreaking vengeance, owning his young, dense charge, my champ's-bod and ignorance.

My eyesbags puckered; bit my damn tongue, pushed along by Flip thrusts. Fuck, I coveted that name to be more; if I were flipped, and I could look up - if eyes weren't crunched shut - what the hell drippin' mangod would I see above, grinding me, putting my poor hole through the River Styx. I had half of that; I stayed facing footprints, and hurt like shit. At a loss for why I thought I could take him, in the ring or up mine, and he stoked the flame with every cruel turn of phrase. "All for show... The pythons, tail, nature's fuzz up your gut scales... Can't take pride that's mine... You're my toy, half-pint... Pretender... Whut'chou have, who's it belong to?-"

The 'who' quizzed my ass, dick spearing it raw. He'd make it worse for silence. I squawked out through my whines. "F-Fliihh... FLI-IHPPPpp..." It hurt to think; to breathe, to rub the floor with a belly snaked by coach meat. He rooted through me; I beat feet on the ground, pouring sweat. My dick, unforgotten; its throb and my skull organ joined taunting me. Hard to send sheer contempt when my rocket burped clear lines down red mass. His chasin' peak had me teeter on mine... FUCK, if he'd gone and sprayed that nut, I'da shot so hard the floor'd burn in white fire. Not enough that he had to own me, leagues past winning. I would lose it if he did, and if he didn't... No burst. No peace for ass, balls or torture-stiff dick.

"While we're at it, kitten..." If I coulda crushed every syllable he threw at me. "Who's the chump that faced a wrecking ball on legs, 'n'a right-as-rain beefstick? Who's the glorified iguana? "

Answering would take that my throat not be tight, leaking two-odd-second squeaks, held in so he'd miss how I ached for it.

He upped the seige. Only slime from his own dick smoothed the fire on my donut. Goddamn was he rigorous; hard to where I knew this counted more than for kicks. Somehow, seeing it mattered just drove in the stake, him nailing my exposed, scorching sweathole. His mouth could be the fiery one, every thought he gelled made my anger grow, my heart pulse, my taint bulge with it. "Y'shoulda stayed humble. Didn't have to call me out. Now you're made..." I heard the 'shlick ' on repeat, in and out, breeding the steer he'd roped. "I'll train yerr ass, alright... Get it so drilled it... Takes only me..."

By the last few breaths, he'd dipped that piss 'n' vinegar in some sugar... Not that I wasn't done, yoked to be ridden, but I left my mark on that bear of a cat. Fine, he played up that I won't have my cream gush 'til it's good by him, but can't bark himself down from my uprising. "G-go ahhee-addd, fffuckin' beat my aaAH-AAHSSS IN... If I get fff-fuuhhcked... I'm takin' you... w-WIIiith me..."

A trace of strength, just pitiful by then, went full to my tail. The rest of me'd tremble, arch or lay in rolling sweats, but the tailmeat, the toned meters, but I put everything into moving it, whisking his lower back, then cheek, then just slithering in the crack and taking the plunge. He floundered like a wuss, ten seconds to a handful-more... In a firm hole, my whipper was a game-breaking, twisty tongue. He wanted ruling me, I'd give my tax, havoc on his daddy cave, blued hairtips brushing him out and fast in.

He recovered. I took by the rhythm, his shove by hips with a grudge. And just my luck, I'd pissed him off. The growl came out as he stewed on it; I moaned like a dipshit - like a twink in heat - as it throttled me. His shadow covered me, darker, he took thick hands to my ribcage, and their offset pose gave me the slightest warning, such small, blessed notice that my bod was due to be manhandled.

This is where my rage peaked, the score got its loudest to reduce me. When he yanked forward, I popped free like a cork, the 'steam' here his hands, whirling me. He even gauged fate, I'd think, that my crippling ache in his fleeing the hole would draw my legs up to me, where they safely cleared him on the half-spin. Fuckin' cruel that I'd get my wish to look up and see, when he pulled my ankles in, too fast to scope the new views. I'd been cheated time to even catch a gasp, or air chapping manhole; he slid it in, it fit the cave it was wrecking, and he soon blew his panting down me, his mouth, my snout, his fat beast and my helpless, swole tunnel.

It was the spark in me, snuffed. The hard-talkin' hunk, hung out to dry, basted in his falling sweat. I cracked one eye; through the red I saw, hating my role of raw, gasping pet, he mouthed 'Rotisserie'. I snarled, blared a jumble of cusses at his big, winning ass. They trailed, shook by the end, and I hated ME now more than him. He'd slipped my guard, had luck on his side; didn't deserve to beat me, and sure shouldn't be ON me, up my rear, stretchin' me and cheeky like he's so damn boss. I went smarting off, it went about as well as you'd think. "Y-yyyhh caan't HHHOL-LLLDmm-meee..."

He spoke over me, no breaks. To him I might as well be mute. "I know you wowed in the Row... Yerr soft... Nah, y'didn't try..." Goddamn he felt bigger in my pink every clock's tick. "... From the start, you dawdle. Every match now, you seek it..."

What started in my brain telling limbs to whip the ground made minor taps and shimmies. My strength, expressed; now the rest, my arching back, wild toeclaws and jellyjaw, groveled that he pivot on, gum up my crack with sweat and pre from his scrote and hairmat. Again I looked past the pain, through a grimace, up to him; he held my mind and favour, watching him speak, taking his chisel, far and wide. He leaned in, each sentence lower. "Seen your whole angle. The gator... A cat... Last month, a moose... Yerr not much to fear, but you don't fear shame..." I won only one thing that night: the last of dignity, when I bottled that wail tightly in me, him pulverizing asshole. I ached in places I'd never felt; my gut contorted, made ridges, my prostate bulged so hard it could glow scarlet. My dick, every micro-duct that held a hint of fluid, stood at high, hurts-not-to-shoot fullness. "... And yerr shamed, boy... I chopped you down... Buck for me..."

Goosebumps forbade me to stop. I believed they'd never be more pain or oath that I'd blow sweet torrents, but OH shit, their climb when he revealed why his chin dipped. Cupping over me - pressing his hairy dome of gut on a tensed, thinner one - the fucker showboated. He had negative mercy, for that hellspawn of a cat's tongue to leave its basin. FUCK it stung my nipple, like treebark, wet and lapping my pecs. Its mouthspade, scratching on glides up the muscle, the plate of beef over breast, before he'd turn on the bud, play around, casually scoop my muscles. How he looked down on them, judged them, I heard in callous chuckles. I lived as fun for him, little else right now, fuckin' sure not a champ.

Heads throbbed, both of mine; so intense my neck craned, eyes pointed high. Then past. Behind. I bulged every arm and leg muscle, whined as they shared the sore torment, rocked my assmeat into his thrusts. A loser, a sub, a fair chance to mark which man brought the fire, and a match gone fairly. I shunned the bitch's option, corked more purrin' whines, barred my sight from closing, Altogether it held, but staring at a wall, the world upside-down, what I saw was piecemeal. Memories, playback of the crowd over blurry stills of the present. Not the throngs who showed for me now. The bad, the ugly, the Row.

I swept down the ring a tad, his monster pushing me, girth pulling right back. I saw Paul's chest, fading as it moved, thumbs-up on one hand, other tugging his ballbag.

"That load... Don'tchou THINK of losin' it 'til I say..." His toil and sweat rode the vocal chords; taunts were gruff syrup.

He mopped the floor with me. If soaped, my blue fuzz coulda cleaned the ring, hard as he shunted me. My lats scoured under us; his pressure, the spot his length aimed to, dug it on the goods. I lay hopeless to control jack-shit... My lips formed the 'O' he caused.

"FuhhhHH-HHHhhckk y-youuuu..." I pulsed quivers. Dim, an image of Roddy walked in front of us. A lion, pacing honey-blonde feet, shakin' ginormous fist. His garb was shirt-alone; dick swung free, his balls bobbed with pawsteps. I saw his investment, and white-knuckled, his impatience. Swelled pain shot through my shaft, my head, the leaking eye; Roddy's memorable unit, straight-on, made the last peek of him before I squinted.

That pain... Pangs in my backside... He oppressed me, hit every nerve in and out this solid den, but to more end than what gummed pre on tailhairs. I stretched hard; vision failing, my eyes stressed shut, yet in my head pics clear beyond any got to forming. It looked so much like he stood there, tapping huge toes, legs cocked out by a thick spread, and above, scoffing at me. Knowing with his half-breed smirk my balls already gathered up, twitched, sent the first throbbed throe before discharge.

He gazed down, in my mind, having pity. I'd met him by losing; months after, still got onto me more than not, into me; for each one time I whooped those cheeks, laid 'em wide, he had three on me. Four, maybe. And in inches. Height, I mean.

He knelt. I dripped sweat. I thought of his arm reaching, claw unsheathing. Under my sack, salt-pre sworl dripping on the point he mighta laid so sly on my nutseam. Back in reality, my pec had rugburn, Flip's barbed tongue sampling me. Fuckin' dermabrasion, hard as it slid on my muscleplates, then a bullseye-nipple, swiping. It hurt half like ground-zero, my ass, ripped into by his bragging rights. He swelled. I bulged from every dick vein, and...

'Young or old, you're for us.' Damn Ark's voice, internal. Fuck his sneer, his body, winner's pride. 'Caught in the line of cucked heroes.'

"GEEEEEZUSFUUUUUCK!!! " I wobbled; weak or not, I leaned into him, bent from the ass he pushed through. Just a half-foot, head off the mat, enraged, humiliated, poppin' white string.

Felt so good it stung. "AHHHHSHIT!! OHHHHHHH!!! F'CKKIN ASSHOLE, I'M SH-OHHHFUUUCKYEHHHH!!! "

Then that hand wrapped my head, his meaty knuckles on my mane. It closed a handful. I yelped. Jizz rushed my nozzle, hard as every muscle compressed... He yanked down on my locks, but I'd have my say, in splashing that chest hair. Catmoobs, beef buried in shag, in beer's padding, now in endless fire, quarts of manjuice.

"SUNUVA-... Who y' think you ARE, slutbritches? " He panted to part words and chewed most of 'em... I'd sent him on the way, lust 'n' joy in his lambasting. Manhood slammed my hole, pre had to'a rolled out my crack, but he dug it in 'til my lungs bowed. Bet he never heard feedback like that, tough, grizzled moanlaughs. I hosed him down... Not so fair that he took offense, his fault I even lay there, writhing, shot after shot of the most magnificent peak, up his chest fold, pudding on a fuzzdish. Inside me expanded on pulses, his megadick and bell head, and it flushed so hard I thought he blew me airborne.

Jets of seed. He roared, bass shrieking, his legs locked me and propelled him cocksure up my ditch, injecting it. Letting loose, fanning me with rolls of bulk, body shaking. I'd dropped a bomb on his taunts; couldn't speak, couldn't rebuke me, just stuffing the white, so damn much there's no chance he didn't feel the same highs, railing me, butch in orgasm.

I fluttered right up to my tongue, pulled behind, bashed below, givin' up cream on order of what blew in my ass. "SHIIIIT I'M... I'MH... SNEAKATTACK'RRR..." I'da laughed if not sprayin' him, sending all I stored to the rocket, sweat heading down my lats, my snail trail. He pitched his fuckin' firepole; wet puddles hit my ass, his twelvth load on, nowhere to go in me. Once more he yanked me by the hair, and then the shadow on me moved; his teeth sank on my forearm.

Half a second, over quick, but my yelp tailed past his bite marks' exposure, when his maw went reducing me. "WUSS-CUMBAG'S WHAT'CHU ARE!! " He didn't reach the bar I set with cries; blame him peaking all up my battered base. I at last recoiled enough from cumfire that my eyes half-opened, near-bulged on a bod losing liters. All that pent juice, his and mine, and Flip flipped out on me like any huskular, slighted daddy whose cock pumped unplanned assfuls. The pissed shouts failed to reach where he meant them, blaring wavy, strained. "BITCH, I'LLLL-LLL MAKE YOU S-SSORRRR-RYY!! " Dick like an arm plowed me 'til the sweet cream slowed at length... Long length, and from the same. Gallons of spunk, on my ass, my spine, his feet. And how it sloshed in cat toes, on the heel of tremendous plods. I'd believe that just thinkin' that - as well I DID - fished me a few more shots, after thirty made it out my redwood, and they went on throwing heaven up his rib fuzz.

But he lay serious; taken and cumming, yeah, but on the first hint of slowdown, gathering, he shot out. And I mean shot; no force pumped through that totem could be blamed for the speed he yanked back. True foul, passing so it felt like he ripped me. A vengeful shit's who I had to train my ass, and I'd have screamed more than a second if he hadn't leapt, and his dick hadn't checked my maw's fussing with a taste mine.

And yeah, the taste was mine. My musky shame. My hole, smacked down and used by that sloppy fuck. The letch wouldn't let it end, his hairy curves pushing in the sausage, feeding me its last thick leaks. I quivered, sent my last half-rope, but sucked and drank like a good loser. All I could be, settling into glow, but not about to let my coach down. I knew already, once I wrapped suckling his gnocci, downed the cream filling, he'd expect I clean the mess I lost on him.

He reached down to my cheek; strong, smarmy strokes of me, eating his jizz. Once did he stretch a line of white, take it to taste, smug and smacking. The rest was mine, my job to sweep in this gullet. Weak gasps, a notch away from winded, feasting. How could I hold malice, put down squarely. Cat flesh jiggled; he made light of my arm-lifts, wobbles up his gut hair for my take of the biggest handfuls my sublime fatigue could. Salted sweet on my tongue, unblended, back-and-forth which dominated. How his bass rose again, my stomach valley'd, responding to real spunk. "Miss a drop and I drop you on that hard head." Middle of my horns, his palm clamped, scratchrubs for his pet wannabe. Not a breath went by without his yogurt downed, filling me. Warmed from gums-down, his thermal brew... My tail whipped the ropes, restless.

All his acts, I fell for. His mettle scratched me, drove me hotter 'til I shed even scraps of my ex-poise. Skin rumpled on him, fanned the chest hair out, as my tongue washed. If I could whimper for how prime he tasted under cum, my dinner, I'da never stopped. And his headrubs would pinch, intermittent, like he needed me in check, like that wasn't locked in. He knew for sure; his ego put the clues on display. "You ain't much, kid. Deny it, just you try. You gave a good show, but get real. Y' never thought I'd fall. Not this." He sat tall; I saw enough move to bait my eyes upward; his collar, neck, a set of chins, flecked with more I'd have to lick off. More li'l soldiers... Shit, how hard he blew, no way it all was mine. I tongued his nipple, tagged his pecmeat. What a banquet, and the plate moved, drew air into fat, naked power.

So long I scrubbed him, oral bow for a new idol. Shocks me that the sun didn't set on us like that with how I'd long to stay. But even all we'd shot off was finite; I bathed the last inch of his shoulder, drank the mouthful. From there I was pushed back, his one hand thrust against me browside. He arranged I'd hit rearward, so he'd roll in reverse, slap both hands in his knee pits and flaunt those feet. In our pool, the lake of goo we tossed off, they'd got immersed like anything. To say they're wide undersells so bad it's sinful... Fat chance that I'll suck jizz off toes any bigger, mouthfuls of all-cat funk. Mansweat, cream and a hint of past socks; two of eight popped in so large they'd shame some dicks. Still my mind raced... As he leaned high, looked over his pudge at me, I wished that gleaming smirk knew my trip down memory lane. One choice then, to wonder; he tipped that voice a rumble, got jolly from the ticklin', red lips down his walkers. "Hhh-help yerrself. It's your new diet plan now on. Protein, boy..."

Between messy mouthfuls, my voice got back to work; it rode all on his supremacy. "RRghh... Yrr'lucky... Idon't bite downnghh..." Rule one of any bout: never show 'em when they've broke you.

"What I am is what'chou wish you were." Ouch... I mean, while I cleaned his fuckin' progeny from hero-feet, mmmnph. Yeah, that.

Three more breaths and I managed to pause the drinking he watched. "Keep onto me, you see if I don't rise to the levell-l-" It wilted off; punctuation was sliding tongue down every crease and pungeant wrinkle.

"Aren't'chou a glutton for ridicule..." He even leaned back, as good as I tended his archway. With my vantage up his chest, the soaked, salt-drool-forest, beyond, a tiny spot smudged the clean canvas of his chin's greyed hairstubs.

Don't ask how I didn't send what little cream I'd not lost out to join us.

"I should ring the fellas... Hnnmf..." My snout just kinda smooshed on his toeroots... All my mind's channels tuned to what could happen if a past posse and now's tutor connected. His other foot, its big toe, combed a creamed dragon'stache. Barely staring above his gut, laid back, spent, cozy. In total charge. "You think they'd bounce much offa me... Odds are they'd fawn at the open door to lay you out."

Odds were too that my heart would skip beats a while. So much jizz I'd chugged from his manliest real estate. Hot, sopping daddy coach with a tether on me. Implications we'd have miles to go with his guidance. All well and good, if I could take those used skivvies home.~