FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Hey ya'll. This story is part of an experiment of mine called 'Red Hots'. Red Hots are short stories that I take from idea to print as swiftly as possible, with little planning and minimal editing. The whole point of them is to get me writing more often, and doing it more quickly than before. If I start offering commissions ( is there interest? ), they will be in a similar format.

I'm still playing around with my style and all that jazz, so if you see something you don't like, or something that sticks out at you, post about it. I'll probably read it.

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Two hours into an eight hour flight. I leaned back from the control column and took my eyes off the avionics. My heart finally climbed down from my throat and stopped beating like a samba drum. My whole body went slack in the flight chair. My first take-off in a jetliner with no one looking over my shoulder. I smiled to myself as my eyes wandered across the horizon, where the fading expanse of the pale blue sky met the darkened earth.

"I was wondering when you'd stop shitting yourself," Tom said. I looked across the center control bank at him and blow out a sigh.

"It isn't easy flying one of these things," I muttered, my voice just loud enough to be heard over the constant din of the cockpit.

He laughed and looked away, his brown eyes darting between a handful of displays. "How would you know? I've been doing all the work."

"Fuck you," I shot back with a roll of the eyes. "You need a co-pilot. Someone has to be here to take over when you roll over and die mid-flight."

Tom chuckled and leaned back in his seat, his thick arms coiling back behind his head. "I hate to break it to you junior, but you're gonna be stuck with me for a long time. I'm probably in better shape than you are." My lips pursed as my eyes crept across his body. Tom's position drew his white dress shirt tight across the black roo's broad chest. If I squinted hard enough, I could trace the rise of his pectoral muscle beneath the name stitched into his shirt. He had a little paunch ( like a lot of older pilots ), but I had to admit, the roo was fit.

"You have a mid-flight exercise routine?" I asked, not allowing my eyes to linger too long. "You set the auto-pilot, get up, and bang out push ups?"

He shook his head and took off his headset long enough to drag one big paw across his short black hair. Unlike the rest of him, his jet black hair didn't have even a hint of grey. "No. I do my workout before I get on the flight, every morning- Unless I'm hung over." He cleared his throat and looked up, then raised his voice. "Of course, I only drink in my off time, never when I'm on duty, and never too much." His brown eyes met my gaze and he smirked, winking at me. Everything we said was being fed into the flight recorders.

I bit back a laugh, my long, striped tail flickering back and forth behind me. "I'm sure," I said, a wry smile on my lips. "You some kind of fitness nut?"

"Are you?" Tom asked, throwing a glance at my body. It was true that I was trim, but I lacked his bulk, or the slender athletic beauty of a true 'twink'.

I shook my head. "Just the ol' big cat metabolism. Don't see a lot of fat tigers, unless they're bankers. You lift?"

He smirked and looked away, taking a few moments to make a few minor adjustments to the aircraft. "No. Well," he touched his chin. "Not really." I looked at his thick neck, and followed it down to his shoulder, where cords of muscle rose to meet it.

"Uh huh," I said, my voice dripping with skepticism.

He threw up his hands. "I didn't say I didn't work out, but I don't lift. I do push ups every day. Sometimes I run, too, jumping jacks, shit like that. Nothing special." He must have seen the disbelief written all over my face, because he continued. "Maintaining isn't too hard if you don't eat like a slob. I was in the military for a stretch, and... Well. Old habits die hard." My eyes went back to his haircut, which was short by any standard.

"Your hair's all wrong for a marine," I said, pausing. I let the gears go round in my mind, weighing my options. "Don't curse enough to be a sailor. Army or air force?"

"Which do you think?" He asked, his handsome looks frozen in a stone cold poker face.

I weighed my options. Does the army still fly planes? I rolled my tongue against the tip of a fang. Maybe. My eyes wandered back down his body, as though I were searching for a clue... But really, I was just checking him out. I didn't know how tall he was, but he had to be in the ballpark of six foot something, and he cared enough about his appearance to wear clothes that fit him well. An inky black tie that matched his fur hung across his white dress shirt. His black slacks and dress shoes matched mine, but his pants were without a single wrinkle, and his shoes were polished to a fine sheen. Airline uniforms weren't impressive by any standard, but damn, he wore it well.

"The Air Force," I blurted out when I realized I'd been staring.

A thin smile cracked Tom's stony face. "Why do you think Air Force?"

"Because... The Army doesn't fly much and I've run into a lot of ex-Air Force people on the tarmac." His smile grew.

"You're wrong," he said, pausing just long enough for my expression to sour a bit. "About the Army, I mean," he soon added. "They still fly a bunch of shit. Not as much as they used to back in the old days, but more than most people think. But you're right about me, I was in the Air Force. Ten years."

I whistled. "Long stretch."

Tom shook his head, his long ears flopping a little bit. "Not really. You've got to be in for a while, per the terms of your contract. Not like you can just do a year and walk away- Unless you're a huge fuck up that gets kicked out." He leaned over the instrument panel and tapped a few buttons. One of the center screens flickered from one read out to another, then back again. His mature face went still, then he relaxed and faded back into his faux leather seat.

"My stretch was about average. After about nine or ten years, most military people make the choice. Either they cut their losses and get the hell out, or they settle in for the long haul. You play your cards right, and you can be set for life by the end of a twenty year run." His eyes grew distant as he stared out through the windscreen. By now the sky had gone a black as his fur, aside from a thin band of orange-yellow that lingered between heaven and earth.

"Why'd you leave?" I asked. I looked at the panels in front of me, but everything was fine, and my attention went right back to Tom.

He shrugged. "Well," he begun, a faint grimace curled across his lips. "You ever worked a job at some piece of crap store?"

"Yeah, I worked at a few when I was a teenager," I confessed.

"What'd you think of your co-workers?"

I thought back a good eight years. A handful of names and faces came to mind, but not many. The few that I could really recall were the cool ones, or the ones that made the job un-fucking-bearable. "Couple good guys, couple bad guys, and a whole lotta people just doing what they were told."

"And your managers?"

"About the same, but with more assholes than good guys."

Tom nodded and set his right paw on his jaw, scratching at the stubbly fur on his prominent chin. "You think you'd have had the stomach to work one of those jobs for your whole life?"

I cringed at the thought. I'd bumped into my share of lifers in the retail world, people that had worked at the same store for as long as they could remember. The thought of ending up like them had been one reason I'd gotten the hell out of my town.

"No," I said. "Hell no."

Tom chuckled, scritching at the fur on his chin. "The military's a lot like a retail job. There's some cool people there, but there's also a lot of shitheads that don't pull their own weight. People that fuck everything up for you, and leave you to pick up the slack. People that act like they're still in high school, and do petty, stupid shit for no reason. You think you had bad managers back then? Imagine you had twenty more managers that would bust your ass over bullshit, all day long."

My mind went back to Full Metal Jacket and the screaming drill instructor. "Like, boot camp stuff? Like, cleaning toilets with toothbrushes because you messed up?"

"Not really." Tom shook his head and twisted around, swiveling his chair to look at me. I wasn't a small guy, but I sure felt small with him facing me dead on. He looked like the kind of guy that should be out cutting trees down and 'living off the land', not flying a plane.

"You don't even have to do anything wrong to get assholes breathing down your neck. You come down off a long shift and your uniform's a bit sloppy? Most people let it slide, because they're realistic. Most people. Some people will be stupid assholes about it and talk down at you because they're one rank higher. You snub some 'work friend' because you didn't want to have drinks one night? He'll remember. Someone thinks you're fucking his fat wife? He'll start talking shit behind your back, running his mouth. Turn down one of the enlisted ladies that thinks she's an eight when she's really a three? Maybe one of the other twelve guys that's banging her comes around and takes a swing at you because she told him some BS."

I considered what he said, studying his body. The small details stood out a lot more, now that I was looking for them. The fine shine on his shoes, the straight laces, his grooming. His claws were cut and cleaned better than most men of his age.

"Sounds like you hated it," I said.

He shook his head again, and folded his big arms across his barrel chest. "Not really. Sometimes I did. Sometimes I wanted to punch an officer in the face, or throw some fuckhead airman into a jet intake just so I wouldn't have to tell him how to do his job for the tenth time in a day. But the military got me out of my town, let me go around the world, and I met some pretty cool people." He shrugged, smiling a bitter-sweet smile.

I thought about asking him if he'd do it again, but I could tell from the fondness in his eyes that the answer would be 'yes'. "What did you do? I mean, in the military. Your job."

"I flew," he said, glancing at the windscreen. "I was lucky. My piece of crap town had a piece of crap college, and I had a degree when I signed up." I struggled to imagine what he must have been like in college. It was hard to imagine all that muscle sitting around in some lecture hall listening to some professor drone on and on. "What about you? You go to school?"

"No," I said, looking down at the panels in front of me. "My family... Well, we've never been big on college. Some of us have been, but we're pretty blue collar. But, well, mom and dad were both pilots, and we've got a lot of flyers in the family. Couple of them worked their way up through the major airlines, but most of them are bush pilots up in Alaska and Canada."

Tom's eyebrows raised up. "I'm impressed. Flying under those conditions isn't easy when you've got a maintained runway and a good support team. Flying in and out of places in the middle of nowhere is a hard job. Not sure I could do it. Your mom and dad must be something else." I smiled, my tail tip flitting about behind my chair.

"They are," I murmured. "So, uhm, what did you fly in the military?" In my mind I was already imagining him as some hotshot fighter pilot. It was easy to see him swaggering down the runway in a flight suit with a helmet under his arm, though it looked like he would be a tight fit in the cockpit.

"I'd like to say that I flew something cool like Eagles, or Falcons. Maybe even a Warthog or a BUFF, but I didn't. I flew transports. Jets. I was grateful for it, too."

"Why? Wasn't it kind of boring?"

He laughed. "It was the military, son. Everything's fucking boring, but there are degrees of boring. Let's put it this way; You think being a transport pilot might be boring? Imagine flying an AWACs plane. AWACs are those planes with the big radar dishes on top, and they basically look around and tell all the other planes what to do."

"They're all hot and cramped because they're full of computers that are older than I am. It's a good day when half the electronics are working. Everyone on board is stinky, sweaty, hungry, tired, and bored out of their minds. If that wasn't bad enough, the second anything goes down, the enemy's going to be doing everything they can to blow that plane out of the sky. AWACs is a shit job."

I suddenly felt quite grateful for the somewhat clean and comfortable cockpit of the airliner. It was louder than I'd like, but it wasn't all bad. "What'd you do when you weren't flying all over the place?"

Tom smirked, his head tilted to one side. "Same thing people do everywhere when they aren't working. Drinking. Smoking." He paused, his dark brown eyes meeting mine. There was something mischievous about the look he gave me. "Screwing."

The way he said that last word sent a funny quiver down through my stomach. I imagined him without his uniform on, taking it off piece by piece. His big, broad chest, his strong arms. I wondered if what he had tucked away in his slacks was just as big as the rest of him, and I knew the answer had to be yes. The only question was... How big? I chastised myself for mind-stripping my coworker and snapped back into the present.

"You get a lot of ass in the service?" I asked, trying to ignore the building pressure I felt between my legs.

"Yeah," he admitted with no shame, his eyes focused on mine. "Military men are young, dumb, and full of cum. It isn't hard to find someone to fuck when you're fit and you've got cash in your pocket." My face twisted up, and he laughed. "I don't mean whores. Some guys go that way, sure, but locals know that servicemen are easy marks. They love to have a 'good time' and spend a lot of money while they're doing it, so they'll latch onto them. But.. Some people found what they wanted on base."

"You mean..." I swallowed. Does he mean what I think he means? "Soldiers going out with each other?" The rising pressure between my legs surged against my fly. The thought of young, hot military men screwing where they probably shouldn't sent a thrill through me.

He nodded. "Yeah. Or screwing each other, anyways. All the exercise fills you up with energy, and the frustration of dealing with Uncle Sam's bullshit all day every day meant most of us were always looking for an outlet." Tom folded his paws across his round, but firm tummy. No wedding ring on his finger. I wet my lips. I saw his eyes tick down when I did, his sight drawn to my tongue.

"I bet you still have plenty of energy," I said. "You still go out drinking and screwing when you aren't flying?"

"Don't you? Everyone loves a good piece of tail." His eyes dipped again, this time to the flickering tip of my striped tail. My cock pulsed in my sheath, held in only by my black slacks. If it weren't for my fly pushing back against me, I'd have had a huge tent between my legs. As it was... Well, I was sure I was showing.

"I guess I do, but it must be hard after these longer flights. They take a lot out of you, don't they?" I stretched back in my chair with some of that trademark cat-flexibility, my arms high above my head. "When I get back, I think I'm going to go straight to my room. Maybe take a nice, hot shower..."

His eyes flashed and narrowed slightly. It felt like his eyes were boring into me, tearing off my clothes. I wished it was his paws instead. "Show me your dick." My heart stopped, my ears flickered. I blushed for the first time in what felt like forever, my mouth agape. I wanted him, but this was a bit sudden even for me!

"Tom, listen, I don't think-" He raised one large paw off his stomach and reached across the console, grabbing my shoulder. It was warm with the heat of his body. I leaned into it without even thinking, then back away again, fidgeting in my seat.

"You've been hard for the last ten minutes. Your dick looks like it's ready to bust right through your fly, and I think you just invited me back to your hotel room." He ran his finger up my shoulder to the collar of my shirt, and I didn't pull away. One finely manicured claw dipped beneath my collar and ran along a strand of sinewy muscle, sending shivers down my spine. "Am I wrong about any of that?"

"No," I admitted. I wanted him, I wanted him bad, but in the cockpit?! I was being painfully reminded of the fact that everything we said was being recorded in the plane's blackbox, and of the hundred and fifty or so passengers and crew that were behind the cockpit door.

"Then why don't you show me your's, and I'll show you mine?" He dragged the paw on his stomach down to the fat package between his muscular thighs and gave himself a lewd squeeze. I noticed for the first time that he was just as hard as I was, and I wondered if the color of his cock matched his fur.

I swallowed and reached up to tap the microphone boom hanging off my headset. "What about this?" I asked. "What about..." I rolled my shoulder beneath his firm paw.

"The flight recorders?" Tom grinned at me. "You know how many planes, how many flights there are every day? Nobody's listening to those unless something goes wrong. No time. No money. I've known a lot of people that were professional all the way when they had to be, but I've seen and heard lot of stuff go down in these cockpits over the years."

That makes sense... Or does it make sense because I want to believe it? Still, it was hard to believe Tom would risk his job unless what he was saying was true. "What have you seen?" I asked, sitting a little straighter.

"Well," he began, dragging his finger down my collar. "I'll give you one example. About four years back, my co-pilot was getting transferred out to somewhere else. He was a good looking guy, a German Shepherd, about your age. Well, there was this flight attendant that had been scoping him out for a long time." His finger dipped into the small valley just beneath my Adam's apple and pressed, pinching my flesh with the tip of his claw.

"Y-Yeah?" I stuttered out, trying not to squirm in my seat. Every move I made ground my swollen sheath against the metal teeth on my zipper. My thin white cotton boxers didn't help one bit.

"Yeah," Tom said as his claw dragged a bit lower. It stopped when it reached the first button on my shirt, lingering there, applying just enough pressure to tug it down a little. "She came in with our coffee, and it was obvious she'd been drinking. I could see it in her eyes. She came on strong like only a drunk or a whore can." Women did nothing for me, but his low, lurid whisper and the touch of his paw had my dick aching to be touched.

"What did she do?" I asked. I purred as his claw slid off my chest and into my first buttonhole. I buried the thought of knocking his paw away, and sat there, anticipating the subtle 'pop' of my button being undone. It came and my shirt went slack on my shoulders, revealing the powder white fur on my chest. His black finger ran down across that fur, his claw carving a sensuous path down to my next button.

He grinned, his finger pressed against the next button of my shirt, pressing the plastic circle against my chest. "She buttered him up, and when she knew I wasn't going to rat, he slid his chair back, turned it around... And she blew him right there in the cockpit."

If anyone else had told me that, I'd have thought they were yanking my chain. Hell, I wouldn't have believed Tom an hour ago... But that was then, and this was now. His finger undid my next button and slid down my shirt, continuing it's journey. Just a few more and my shirt would be half open. I sat there, speechless, dizzy, and half-dazed as he slid his paw beneath my shirt and rubbed his palm across my chest. The warm heat of his paw pressed against my nipple made me gasp and squirm.

"Show me your cock," he repeated, looking me in the eyes. I opened my mouth to speak and he crushed my nipple between two fingers, forcing me to gasp.

Fuck it, I thought, reaching for my waist. I'd only be lying to myself if I said I didn't want to at this point, and I wanted to see what he was packing. I grabbed hold of my belt and tugged it up and away from my waist, giving me a little more clearance to undo it. My fingers fumbled, my mind raced. The beating of my heart drowned out the constant mechanical drone that filled the cockpit and the headset noise I'd long since stopped paying attention to.

Knock knock. I froze like a cat caught with one paw in the fish bowl. My panicked mind gave birth to insane thoughts. It's the sky marshal! The sky police are here to arrest us for plane fuckery! I bristled from head to toe and recoiled against my seat, but not Tom.

Tom leaned over and brushed my headset aside, then rolled his wet tongue across the sensitive inside edge of my ear. I shuddered in my seat and melted with a sigh.

"It's Pam," Tom whispered in my ear. "Or maybe Tammy. One of them. Would you like to get up and get our lunch?"

I nodded and took off my headset, hanging it right where it belonged. I slid back my seat as if on autopilot, twisted it around, and shuffled to the door. I glanced at the security cameras to make sure it was a stewardess, and that yes, she was alone, and then I unbolted the reinforced door. I shut it again as soon as she was inside.

"Hi boys," Pam crooned as she brushed past me, drinks in one hand, sandwiches in the other. She was a small thing, a Corgi somewhere between forty and fifty that looked ( and acted ) closer to thirty. "You've been doing a great job today. If I didn't know any better, I'd think we were still sitting on the runway."

"It's all him," Tom said, jerking an over the shoulder thumb in my direction. "I've been sleeping the whole time. Had a Valium and a shot of vodka before take off."

She giggled, walked over to him, and gave him a swat on the shoulder. "Oh stop. You're going to get in trouble if a passenger hears that. Here is your ham and cheese sandwich, and your pop." She handed both to Tom, who put them both off to the side, safely away from all the panels and instruments.

"Thank you," he said with a friendly smile.

"You're welcome," Pam bowed, then spun on me. She took two steps and paused, her eyes dipping. "Oh my, are you getting hot up here?" I blinked. What does she- Oh. My shirt. I didn't know if it's possible to fight down a blush out of sheer willpower, but I tried my best. I tried to think of something to say, but Tom spoke before I could.

"He just wanted to look good for the hottest little thing on this flight," he said. I couldn't see his face, but I knew he was smirking.

Pam cackled and pressed my sandwich and soda against my chest, then took my shirt by the shoulders and gave it a ruffle. "Don't quit your day job, Fabio." She gave me a kiss on the cheek, then spun on her dark blue heels and walked right back out the door. I locked it behind her, put my things aside, and collapsed into my seat.

"That was something," I mumbled, staring at the floor.

"That was Pam," Tom said with a chuckle. The little interruption had poured a little cold water on my desires. I was starting to think better of what I was about to do. I took a deep breath and turned toward Tom to tell him why we couldn't do what we were about to do, whatever that was, and that was when he kissed me.

He caught the back of my head with one paw and seized a handful of my black hair. His mouth was on mine before I knew what was happening, warm, and wet, and oh so hungry. His tongue crashed into my muzzle and pinned my tongue to the bottom of my mouth, thrashing across it. I stiffened, more worried about falling across the center control panel ( and the throttles! ) more than anything else, but when the plane kept flying straight and level, I allowed myself the luxury of kissing him back.

I grabbed his head in both paws and pulled it closer. With my chair facing the door and his still facing the controls, we were in the perfect position for what came next. Our eyes closed as I pushed against him, forcing my rough, wet tongue past his and into the roo's mouth. I slapped his headset mic up and out of the way as my paws slid around to his cheeks, my palms butting up against the sides of his large muzzle. We kissed until I was practically falling out of my chair to lean into him, and only then did he throw me back into my seat.

"Show me," he said. I slouched back in my flight chair and unbuckled my belt, yanked open my fly, and reached into my boxers. It took no effort at all to free my dripping length from my sheath. It sprang through the slit on the front of my shorts, ready and willing. "Now jack it," Tom ordered.

I reached for my cock, but stopped and looked at him. "No," I said. "You said you'd show me your's." I tipped my head at his bulging slacks and leaned back in my seat, my hands set on my thighs. It took a mighty amount of willpower not to pound my dick just like he asked, but I needed to see what he had.

Tom didn't disappoint. He eased back in his seat and spread his legs as much as he could in the narrow space he had. His big black paws dipped to his muscled thighs, and I held my breath. He looked me in the eyes as he pulled apart his belt with a metallic jingle and dragged down his fly, taking his sweet fucking time.

I was leaning forward in my seat when he finally brought it out, and it was everything I'd hoped. It was long, girthy, and it was that same shade of dark black that colored much of his body. If I squinted, I could just about see his fat black nuts through the opening of his boxers. "Happy?" He asked, his fingers wrapped around the thick root of his shaft.

"Very," I purred. If we were anywhere else in the world, I'd have pounced him and rolled around until one of us ended up inside the other, but I knew I couldn't do that here. Not without crashing the plane, anyways. My paw strayed back to my dick and I mirrored his grip. Everyone always paid special attention to the head of a cock, but I always liked the feeling of a good squeeze down low on mine.

"You should open your shirt, let me see that body," Tom said. He dragged his fingers teasingly up his cock, his fingertips following the prominent vein that ran across the top. I knew I should have told him to do the same, but I didn't care. I was too busy staring at his dick to care much about anything else. My paw moved as his did, and I gasped as the dry friction tugged at my flesh.

I undid my shirt with one paw as I stroked myself with the other, exposing my trim body. Like most tigers, my chest and stomach were covered with soft white fur. The only interruption in that sea of white was the loosened black tie hanging down across my chest.

"You take good care of yourself," he said, his eyes poring over my body.

"I try," I said with a shy grin. My breath caught in my throat as he sat up and stretched a long arm across the space between us. I looked down and watched as his paw fell upon my body and seized my shaft, his middle finger caught on that sensitive valley just behind the ridge of the spongy head. I strained to hold in a moan as he dragged his paw down my length, but when his paw hit rock bottom and he ground the firm, fleshy bottom of his hand against my pubic bone, I couldn't hold it in any longer.

"Unnghha! Tom," I breathed as my hips bounced against his strong, squeezing hand. I grabbed the arms of my seat to keep from thrashing around or doing something stupid and writhed against it. It took a lot of self control not to push my claws into the padding.

"Careful now. The door locks, but it isn't soundproof," he said. A flicker of panic was snuffed out as his paw torqued the base of my cock, his claws scraping my flesh every now and then. The faint sparks of pain only added to the pleasure. I clenched my jaw to choke back another moan. I wanted to reach across, slap Tom's paw off his cock and jerk it until the big black roo shot his goo all over himself, but I couldn't. It took all I had to keep everything bottled up inside.

His paw moved in slow strokes, toying with me. Every now and then he'd turn away to glance at the instruments or tap a button or two, but his eyes never left me for long, and he never let go of my dick. I grit my teeth and rolled against him, my ass flexing against the seat. I matched the pace of his paw as it crept up and down, panting into my microphone. I wondered what the fuck the FAA people would think if we crashed the plane and they recovered this. It would make for one hell of a news report.

I never understood why my straight friends hated handjobs so damn much. The feeling of a skilled paw cradling my dripping cock always sent shivers down my spine. Maybe Tom was damn good at it, or maybe it was the extra kick of doing something this insane, but whatever it was, I was rushing to my peak.

I stared Tom dead in the crotch and watched as his bouncing cock dripped and drabbed pre-cum all over his dark paw. I wanted to get on my hands and knees and lick it off, I wanted to stuff his dick in my mouth and suck until I got my first taste of kangaroo cum, but I couldn't, wouldn't move, not with his paw pistoning up and down my swollen shaft.

"Why don't we add a few stripes to your fur?" He teased. His smooth, full-length strokes became a short and sudden jerks that focused on the last two or three inches of my cock. My mind's eye narrowed and focused on his hand, the sensuous feeling of his fingers working my shaft. I felt the rising pressure of my orgasm building between my thighs, and jerked against the seat as it hit that point where there was no turning back.

I couldn't help it. I moaned, but not much. A half-second after it left my lips, Tom clamped his paw around my mouth. It's the paw he was using to jerk himself off, I realized as the smell of his musk hit my nose. I whimpered and licked the gooey pre-cum off his palm and fingers as I felt the first pulse of my sweet release. A hot strand of tiger cum shot across the fur on my bared midriff.

Tom slammed his paw down my cock and squeezed my spurting dick with his thick fingers. I lost it. I screamed into his palm and forced shuddering breaths through my nose. My hips jumped off my seat and into his paw as I came, but Tom held me tight, and kept my dick pointed at my body. Not a drop of it hit the seat, the controls, or even the floor. When I came down, I was a purring, gooey mess.

"I thought cats were supposed to be clean. Tsk. You made a mess," Tom said. I cracked on eye open and looked at him, red-faced, happy, and a little dazed. He dropped his paw away from my mouth and wiped it off on my chest, but I'd already licked it clean. The spit that remained on his fingers was just a drop in the bucket compared to what I had all over my tummy.

"It has to go somewhere," I rasped. Tom chuckled and sat up in his seat, and when he moved, I noticed his fat roo cock was still standing tall. He glanced at the instruments, looked out across the horizon, then slid his seat back and spun it around.

"I guess you're right about that," Tom said with a smirk. "Why don't you come over here and let me clean you up?"

I blinked. Tom with his back to the controls, and me out of my chair. It was a terrible idea... But he could turn around in a hurry if something went wrong, and it wasn't like we were in any real danger... The skies were clear, the autopilot was on, and there was no traffic anywhere near us. I hesitated only a little longer before I stood up and walked over to him, using my clean paw to hold up my pants.

He grabbed me as soon as I was in front of him, and pulled me closer. I thought he was going to tug me right into his lap, but he didn't. He held me still as he bent over and pushed his muzzle against my stomach, and lashed it with his tongue. His strong paws rubbed my sides as his hungry mouth slurped and sucked the creamy lines of my cum right out of my fur. I stared on in silent awe as he ate his way down to my dribbling cock, and, without any hesitation, his eager mouth swallowed me up.

I grit my teeth again and grabbed his head in my hands. It was my first time in a kangaroo's muzzle, and I loved it. His muzzle was big and long, which made it perfect for sucking dick. If I'd had anything left to give, I'd have been hard in seconds. His tongue slurped the cum right off my shaft, and his lips caught what his tongue missed. There wasn't a drop left when he popped off my half-hard dick.

"Hey buddy," Tom said. I blinked a few times and my eyes snapped back into focus on his handsome face. The big roo sprawled back in his seat, his legs thrown out to either side. He looked down, and when I followed his gaze, I saw his dick held in his hand. "You want to help me out? I'd hate to make another mess after cleaning that all up."

"Oh fuck yes," I whispered as I fell to my knees. I didn't waste any time. I grabbed his dick with a staggered grip, one paw near the base, the other near the top. I gave him a good squeeze at both ends as I hunched forward and fed his dripping head into my mouth, eager to get my first taste of him. The kangaroo's cock didn't taste any different from any of the others I'd had in my mouth, but the smell of him was different in a way I couldn't quite parse. I drank in the scent of him, the taste of him, my lips and tongue caressing his flesh.

"Good kitty," Tom huffed. He planted a paw on the back of my head and pushed me down, not hard, but firmly enough that I got the point. I moved my forward paw further down his shaft to stroke the middle of it as I squeezed the base of his shaft. I started to go lower, but his paws stopped me, holding my head right where it was. "Lips up top, hands down bottom. I want you to taste it when I cum."

So do I, I thought, lashing the underside of his cock with my rough cat tongue. I was kind of grateful in a way that he didn't want me to take more of him. The kangaroo's cock was so girthy I had a hard time keeping my lips sealed around it, so every time I moved my muzzle slurped and popped. A small dribble of precum and spit gathered on my bottom lip and chin, but I had no doubt that Tom would be happy to clean it off.

"Mmph, you cats have the best tongues." Tom whispered. If my mouth wasn't stretched across his dick, I'd have grinned. I popped my mouth off his cock and licked my way all the way down to my paws. Each time I lashed his cock with my tongue, I turned my head to one side so that my rough, wet muscle would stroke him just right.

He slouched back in his seat and grimaced, baring his teeth. A rich spurt of pre ran down from his oozing tip and down across his cock, and I swallowed it up as I worked my way back up. It was salty and almost sweet on my tongue. I made sure that I got every drop before I wrapped my lips around his shaft and sucked the rest right out of him.

"Don't stop," he gasped. I looked up at his face and met his eyes as both my paws began to pump up and down his slick dick. One paw went up to meet the lips of my muzzle while the other sank down around his base. They both met in the middle between strokes, and whenever they touched, I squeezed Tom's dick good and hard.

With some guys I could tell just before that came, but not with Tom. He didn't gasp, didn't moan, he didn't so much as flinch until after the first shot of roo cum splashed across the back of my throat. I sputtered and coughed, but I swallowed in time to be ready for the second shot. It washed right across my tongue like a warm, pearly white wave. Tom grabbed two handfuls of my hair and held me there as I drank his cum, and I was purring like a kitten. Not a drop of it escaped my muzzle, and I nursed on his flesh until he faded back into his chair and began to go soft between my lips. We were both panting when I let him slip free of my mouth.

Tom combed my hair back down with his claws, then he let me go. "That was something else," he whispered. He was wearing a dreamy smile, and so was I.

"Yeah," I said, just little spaced out. I got up off the floor, and when I did, Tom caught my arm and pulled me in for a kiss. It was soft and slow, almost tender, and there was the lingering taste of my cum in his muzzle. His lips brushed across my bottom lip as we parted again, and then he let me go. I watched as he tucked himself back into his pants, careful not to brush them with his wet cock, and I did the same.

"You better sit down," Tom said. "Maybe eat your lunch."

"I'm already full," I protested as I sank back into my seat. He laughed, and so did I. We both settled in and got back behind the controls, but we couldn't keep our eyes off of one another. It took maybe ten minutes before Tom finally broke the silence.

"You want to split a room tonight?" He asked.

I flashed him a lecherous grin. "You bet your ass I do."