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I usually try to get to know someone's name before I get to know their cock, especially by the second time I'm sucking them off. In my defense, the first time I got to meet the wolf with my otter muzzle was from across a glory hole in a Walmart bathroom. It's not exactly the most romantic love-at-first-sight location, especially since whatever part of his body that hadn't yet sheathed itself in my muzzle remained hidden behind the adjacent stall. To his credit, he did invite me over to his booth after spending a few lovely minutes down my throat through the divider. What a gentleman, right, inviting me back to his place already. I guess I could have asked for his name then with my newly unoccupied mouth, but he told me he was low on time, so I naturally responded by raising my tail high. I like guys that know what they want, and I'd certainly never argue against an express line pounding.

A tailful of minutes later, he scribbled his number on a twenty and pressed it at me, both of us still panting. He left first; I wobbled out soon after, making sure to key in his number on my phone under a new contact: "Walmart Hookup #3, wolf, uncut, 35ish". I spent half of that twenty on some fancy signature tub of ice cream. After all that work, I figured I deserved something creamy down my muzzle.

There's a weird feeling in my throat and something fuzzy bumping at my lips, breaking my thought. I look up, and sure enough, there he is, wolf, 35ish, dashing as the few minutes I caught of him before. He's of course still uncut, but you wouldn't be able to see that because of the pressure in my throat. We're in his bedroom this time, a place much nicer and spacious than our first encounter. He's got a nice, big paw weighing down my head and a thick leaky cock weighing down my tongue. I can feel it, all those little spurts washing down the back of my throat, and judging by the way he leers down at me, I'm pretty sure he knows I can feel it too.

Anyone who knows me knows about my gratuitous love of foreskin. It's no secret, though it does sometimes pose conflicting desires. For example, imagine I've got a nice, thick, uncut cock shoved down my throat (a real stretch for me, but please try). Now, of course I'm not going to complain about that - half my fantasies involve me kneeled down in this position. But see, that also means his tip and attached foreskin is busy holding up my uvula, a place that my poor otter tongue simple can't reach! I can't pull back either. His paw feels too nice nestled in between my ears, and I don't want to seem rude by fighting it, especially when those blunted claws start their appreciative digging deep into my hair.

"Ooh, good little ott," he rumbles down at me. His paw pushes my head down a bit more, making me feel a particularly strong spurt against the back of my throat. I would have told him how pointless that was with my lips already pressed flush against his musky groin if it weren't for the delicious obstruction craning my jaws open. So I just look up at him, strain my tongue out from under his member, and lap his balls a few times. There's no way I'm fitting _those_in my muzzle, but it's a way for me to tend that extra inch that he wants. He seems to like it, because not long after his paw relaxes from behind my head, and I at least try to stay down there for a few more seconds before pulling back with a big gasp of air.

That paw moves back to join the other in bracing himself up on his bed. It looks really fluffy and comfortable, though I wouldn't know for sure from my current position. His shag carpet feels nice under my knees though, and the fur on his inner thigh rubs soft against my elbows. Now that my head is mostly off his length, I can finally get to playing with his foreskin, a part I've been looking forward to all day. I just love inspecting the taut, veined skin as it pulls back from that glistening head, watching it ripple in slow circles before unwinding completely and stretching tight behind the ridged crest. I love seeing how the entire flesh underneath glistens with my good-boy saliva, how it mixes again with his pre when I tug his skin forward, coming to connect perfectly snug behind his erect, throbbing head once more. I lazed there for a while, just peeling back and pulling forward that cone of skin, tongue cradling around his slit to catch all the errant spurts of pre. I must have lost track of how long I lingered, because all of a sudden I hear a growl above me, followed by a familiar grip behind my head.

"Hey, come on ott. I know I said we got a bit until the missus gets home, but I can't exactly cum from you dreamy eyeing my dick. So get to it."

He pushes me down again, more forcefully this time. As his cock pushes up into my mouth, it catches against the top ridges in my jaw, letting me feel for a moment the wonderful glide of his foreskin peeling back. I feel like I should have gagged a little, especially when he reaches past my throat, but it slides down, smooth, slick, immensely musky, intensely good. He holds me in place again, the familiar spattering of pre splashing against my throat once more. This time I have its taste fresh on my tongue, and lap at the salty sweet liquid trapped against my tastebuds and his length. The pleasant lingering flavor brings me back a bit, reminding me of how I came to kneel between wolf legs on a Friday afternoon.

Fridays are my lazy days. My classes don't run, but my two roommates still work, which gives me a pair of less cocks to play with. I already spent the whole of last night curling my body upside down on my bed for some self-licking fun, and while that felt nice, my back still ached too much to try it again so soon. Besides, I always enjoy the feel of another man's cock pushing in between my lips more. So soon after waking up, with my head flopping down the edge of my bed in teenage boredom and my fingers flicking through my phone, I remembered the contact, and called the guy.

When the wolf picked up, he seemed a bit distracted, but his tone quickly changed to one of familiarity when I introduced myself as 'the guy that sucked you off and let you fuck him in Walmart just a few days ago'. I was a bit confused when he mixed me up with a fruit bat and had to correct him, but he just said "Oh ... Oh! Yeah, that one" and gave me his address. He told me he had about four hours of free personal time, but I should just come over right then. Luckily he only lived about a mile away, so I didn't need to wait for my roommates to get home to drive me. Besides, when I do see them, my problem of not having another cock to bury in my muzzle would resolve itself anyway.

The wolf greeted me by his front door in simple black tee and blue shorts, the latter of which seeming rather excited to see me. His head leaned out to glance around even before he looked at me and practically yanked my body inside the house. He offered me a drink, which I declined, then his cock, which I eagerly accepted. As he walked me towards his bedroom, he mentioned how his wife and kids were off watching "some live opera performance". Now, I'm a fan of operas myself, but I wasn't about to complain about him staying home instead. At least with me over, he could still enjoy a nice oral performance involving a widely stretched jaw. I promise you, the view is much better from up close.

I'm speaking from personal experience here. With my nose half an inch from his groin and his tip half an inch down my throat, I'd like to think I'm overly qualified in making that claim. Oh, and the smell from here is just incredible. I think he must have showered recently, because I still smell a faint tropical scent (mango I think) amidst all the spicy wolf musk in his groin. It mixes in with his pre wonderfully, a slick savory sweetness that envelops my nose and maw, radiating from his body to mine with every wet slurp of my tongue. God, he just feels wonderful hilted in me.

Eventually, though, he pulls back, his length glistening as it slips from my wet muzzle. I swear, his bed doesn't even make a sound when he pushes down on it, and I'm momentarily tempted to ask him if he can just flip me up and onto that thing. What can I say, I like to compare mattresses - maybe taste test a pillow here or there. I do get another nice taste of him when his length brushes forward again, rubbing against the side of my cheek as it smears the saliva-pre mixture deep into my short fur. I rub back at it, eyes closed, tongue back, just spending a few seconds nuzzling my snout against his entire length. I don't even know how many spurts of pre he marks on me during that time, but judging from the stickiness I soon felt on the skin underneath my fur, I can confirm at least one stereotype about canines.

Apparently he wanted to mark somewhere else though, because soon I feel his grip tighten behind my head, lifting it up against his slick smeared length to slide himself across my welcoming tongue and deep into my muzzle yet again. There's no pause this time before I feel that grip lifting me up, raising my head slowly, agonizingly from his length, the centimeters just coming and coming from inside my muzzle as he retracts. I remember feeling like this before at an amusement park, strapped in one of those vertical rides that lifted you high until people became pinpoints and roads became pen lines. I remember shivering from the anticipation, from the knowledge that I would soon be plunged down, hard, and that the only control I had was the choice of closing my eyes or watching the fall. The fur on his sheath comes into focus as my lips hover just around his peak, and I hold my musked breath even when he's no longer in my throat.

Now, I think, and brace myself for impact...

A moment passes. His grip persists. Big wolf paws remain in place to hold me precariously over the edge of his length. Gobs of wolven pre seep against my tongue, and I have to seal my lips around him a few times to swallow it upwards. He must have held me there for half a minute, and I give myself a few more false starts every time his grip shifts. Eventually, my body gives out, and I suck in the fragrant musky air around his cock, letting fill in and cool down my aching lungs. My breath trembles, and when I exhale, I try to dip my muzzle back down around him. I don't get an inch past his head before blunted claws dig in my ears and he pulls my snout back up to where it was before. Wasn't he telling me to hurry it up just now?

"Eager boy, aren't you? Look at me," he commands. I hear the smirk in his voice even before I see it in his muzzle. My gaze shifts up his belly, up the beginnings of a firm, muscled gut, up to the flirty grin between black wolven lips, up to when his spurting tip slides to fold back my bottom lip until it plops completely out of my muzzle. I see him chuckle, his eyes narrowing lecherously as he made plans of how to use me next. I don't fight him this time. My head remains still even as my tongue extends out and digs back under his foreskin, tracing languid arcs left and right. My eyes remain locked on his as I bask in his scent, his juices, his dominance over me. I want him to see my matted fur, see the face of the otter that huffed warm, worshipful breaths over his cock. He grins at the sight, and I get a clearer peek at his desires.

Our first encounter was rushed due to him having other commitments. Here, in the comforts of his own home, I assume he had little other matters besides the little otter in front of him. There was no reason to rush a climax; it'd actually make more sense to draw the act out longer, both to maximize his pleasure and the reward I'd get at the end. He nudged me before about going too slow, then taunted me when I wanted to suck down on him. Oh, this wolf was in no rush, I knew now. He just wanted to tease and press my buttons to watch me squirm all over his cock. I give him a pout when I realize this, and he only gives me back a chuckle.

We look at each other like that briefly before he suddenly yanks my ears upwards, spinning me around by the shoulders and shoving my body to sit back against the base of the bed. He gives his dripping length a few strokes before angling it down between my lips. I hear him laugh and tap his cock on my nose, saying, "oh, you look so cute when you're mad." He doesn't wait for a response before pushing in, and I don't need any further prompting before leaning my head forward. Within seconds, he hilts in my mouth for the third time that day, and I expect him to start pulling back, but instead he keeps pushing on. Unlike before, there's no paw holding my head down this time. Soon he leans down on me with his entire body - cock first - until my head tilts back completely against the bed.

"Keep it right there," he says, before pulling back. "Oh, you look even cuter like that." He drives forward, swiftly this time. Wolf cock lodges deep in my throat, plugging my breath, and I swallow around it a few times before he withdraws. Just as quickly, he draws back, and I barely get half a breath in before he clogs the back of my throat again. My eyes flutter as he begins to piston in and out of my muzzle, causing me to brace my arms above his knees for support and to push him back if I start really choking. Usually I prefer to be roughed up in my rear more, since a sore rump feels just so much better than a sore throat. Given my position I can't argue though, and it's honestly been at least a week since I've had someone pound my face in so nicely. So I just let him go at it, relaxing as much as I can with two hundred pounds of wolf thrusting above me.

Soon, his thrusts pick up, and I can tell he's done with teasing me today. His knees fold slightly and his arms rest on the bed right above my head as he pumps away. Hot, turgid wolf cock slaps and slides along my extended tongue, making lewd squelching sounds as he draws back to the tip and bottoms out in me each time. I guess he found the most efficient way of fucking my face, and from the way my own length throbbed under my briefs and shorts - often in tandem with his thrusts - a more efficient way of making me leak all under my own clothes as well.

I'd usually start stroking myself now, but again, he had a really nice bed, and I didn't want to mess it up with with my own spunk. Hell, judging by how damp and tiny my undies felt, I might even be able to crescendo it all the way up onto the pillows if I didn't hit him in the chin first. Heh, both'd be fun to clean up. I still rub myself under my shorts though. An otter's only got so much self control, after all.

His thrusts push me really far back into the bed, and it starts to hurt a bit. Don't get me wrong, this bed is amazing soft - I'd probably have a concussion by now if not for it - but this guy is just crashing away into me. I start having to lift my head up a bit each time. He doesn't notice, and I still relax my neck whenever he squeezes my head down again. There's just something special about having a guy push himself down repeatedly into your throat, especially those times when he grinds in for a few seconds before pulling up again. He even gives my ears a rub every once in awhile, and I make sure to give his tip a few swallows too.

I swear, I don't even know when it happened, but all of a sudden my cock is poking out and my paw is around stroking it. It must have happened after he said "I'm close", because up until he said those words I still cared enough about getting air to keep my paws on top his knee. It was nice of him to warn me though, since it gave me enough time to force in a big breath before he pushes further into me than ever before. This time, he stays. The intimate connection my tongue spent developing with his member for the past half hour helps me appreciate every twitch along his length, lets me feel the way it bulges up just ever so slightly as his load travels down from his body straight into my awaiting maw.

I nearly choke from the first blast. His cum, thick, warm, plenty, surges down my throat in great globs. Even with his erupting tip poking into my gullet, the force of his climax sends waves of his spunk splashing back against my tongue. The thought of him breeding my belly combined with his taste sends me into my own climax, my body shuddering as I fire a few shots that manage to both hit him in the chin and get all over his bed. I sat there in a convulsing daze, cock throbbing as it leaked the last drops of cum out, throat tensing as it swallowed the last drops of him down.

Just as I begin to wonder if I need to push him off, he withdraws, and I take in a gasp that's rich with the scent of his cum. Now that I'm able to breathe again, I get a clearer taste of him. It's rich, salty without being bitterly so, and tasty enough for me to lick up the narrow strand still connecting us together. His tip drools a few pearly globs onto my cheek when I lean my head forward, and I rub and smear the fluid into my fur. Eventually, I stand up, bringing my sticky paw to my muzzle to lick up the more familiar cum. He pets my head when I do that. "Good ott," he says, and I grin at him with my matted muzzle.

We're still panting from our post-climactic haze when he turns to fish for his wallet on the nightstand. He lifts another twenty from it, and turns his gaze back to my messy face before letting out a quick chuckle. He folds the bill in half before wiping it across my stained cheeks, scooping up his own seed and smearing it a little on the crease inside. It sticks to my chest when he unfolds it and presses it against me, and I look down, unsure if I should feel insulted.

"Another signature from yours truly," he grins, and raises an eyebrow. "Hmm, you know, the wife's got a business trip next Saturday. Overnight. Kids gonna be out for a birthday party too."

I pretend to consider it for a moment, and say I'll let him know. How can I get mad when I already know I'll take him up on that offer?

He just waves a paw at me. "Yeah, you do that. You could probably stay over too if you want, just probably not on the bed though. Already gotta wash these twice." He points to the streaks of cum still shining on the sheets. "Couch is pretty comfy though. I could visit you outside too."

The thought of waking up to a stiff cock in my mouth gets me hard again, and I don't try to hide it. He looks down, gives me a knowing look, and tells me he'll see me then.

There's still enough time for me to shower, but I don't ask him to join, and he doesn't offer. It feels nice to let the jets of water cascade down on me and wash all the sweat and scent out of my fur. I linger, eyes closed, idly focusing on the dozen threads of water piercing down my head and massaging on my scalp, cleaning away my thoughts for the day. I come out damp with a towel around my waist and the scent of mangoes on my fur. There's a faint whiff of febreze coming from his room, and he comes out holding a bottle of it in one paw and his bundled sheets in the other. He flashes me a sly grin before tossing the sheets aside and walking me to the door, giving my butt a firm slap as I step out from his house.

The afternoon sun bakes down on me on my walk home. His sticky bill remains the only evidence of our tryst, and I keep it folded next to my wallet so it doesn't clump. The humid heat combined with my tender throat makes me think of how nice some ice cream would taste right about now. It's not until I'm halfway home that I pull out the bill to peel the two ends apart. His signature. Heh, I barely even know his name.