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Self Therapy

There's an odd warm winter air going around. Should be cold this time of year but it isn't. The news have declared it an anomaly, even his TV's exhibiting some form of malfunction. Regardless, the weather is 'off' tonight. No howling winds, not a spot of cloud either, and the night at its darkest with no moon in sight. Streetlights lining along the Canadian suburbs are the only source of shine, light peeking through Dexter's home and into the bedroom. Fluorescent glow that shows the bits of dust and strands of fur floating in the air, as well as the throbbing black shaft that glistens somewhat as pre oozes through its tip, his stroking hand coats it until its base.

"Fuck," Dexter mutters to himself, his tail having wagged long enough on the bed that the sheets have formed a v-shape pattern. It's been soaked in his sweat, and even they sparkle with little light bouncing across his dark fur. Those red glowing eyes looking at his own shaft with intent. The musk in the air wafts barely with the fan's swing along him, and that's not enough to cool him down either. His own scent is aromatic but it's still not enough.

"Where are they?" He means his doppelgangers, his loyal fans. Is the heat giving him a hard time to think of their praise? He sits up against his soaked stacked pillows, giving him enough reach to fondle his plump nuts, tuft of hair between two orbs. Fondling them feels nice but it's not the same without their compliments. And he slides one hand along his thighs, dragging the musk across his fur, marking himself with the smell of a true alpha.

"Damnit," he lays back down sprawled out and defeated. His cock still stands, throbbing with need that he can't fulfill. Letting out a sigh, he wonders what to do that night as he's never been able to sleep with an erection nowadays. In his younger years, sure, his job then demanded it. Having free time and being stuck in between work sure has taken its toll.

His ears start flicking towards his bedroom door, something's calling to him. It's not a home invader though, he'd have known the moment they set foot on his lot's grass. What this is is a quiet tune that implores him to check. And there's a slight smile on his face as he drags himself off his bed, putting on the thong that he's left on the bedside drawer. His fashioned undergarments, with its green and dark green camouflage pattern, does little to cover his shaft, let alone tent it. Acting only as a ball pouch and even then it's peeking out on both sides already rather than trying to hide it. May as well not have worn it, but as he passes the closet door mirror, he can't help but pose, showing off those muscles covered in sweat. When his camera arrives in a week or two, he can take a few photos like this– a tease as well as an invitation; where his cock's tip barely peeks into the cascading light, pre oozing down to the floor, and half his body still shrouded in shadows, with those red eyes gazing down lustfully. Maybe submit it to a publisher and show himself more. But the anticipation does not justify the long wait he still has to do.

The unseen smile vanishes despite this amazing view for it is only a reflection that has nothing more to say. He steps closer to it, nuzzling his other self. "I miss you," he whispers to him.

Dexter steps out of his bedroom with no regard for his lack of decency, strutting down the hallway in loud footsteps. His eyes can pick up on outlines within the dark, courtesy of his genes; the same kind that's given him his massive shaft. The door to his personal study is left open, nothing sensitive inside it anymore. Miles' bedroom is locked and only his son has the key. It's quiet and hot out here still, almost like the time he's training, isolated in a shack and tasked to survive for days on end. This time though, he can march around with his other gun out, leaking pre on the floor.

"This heat, fuck," he descends slow, holding onto the wooden handrails that are just as hot as the floor. The invisible force that's been tugging him is in the living room, but he needs to drink something to cool him down. At least there's some streetlight shining into the foyer, and through the living room curtains. Though he's not an exhibitionist, he does like the sudden attention from a stranger, especially when their eyes look downward whenever they see him in a similar risque attire. A common occurrence in the kink bar Latex Lair.

Once he's at the foyer, he brushes past the front door with the temptation to open it and flash his dick out into the warm air. The heat's really getting into his head. He loves to show off but he'd rather not take risks. Stepping into the living room next, he feels this ethereal pull fixate towards the television set, its red light power switch glowing and waiting to be turned on. The remote is on the coffee table opposite of it, in front of the couch. The streetlights put a spotlight on it, almost as if it's what he's supposed to do. And while his pre continues to dribble down along the base of his cock, his thirst lures him first into the kitchen that is almost pitch black even with his wolf vision. He does not waste time finding drink as all he needs is something to quench his thirst, returning to the living room with a beverage that leaves a strong bitter kick in his mouth, and a hazy aftertaste as it slides down his throat.

"That's the stuff," Dexter hobbles over to the couch with his bottle of whiskey. Half-full bottle is set on the table, his half drunk state added onto this heat makes it more fun, his shaft throbbing harder than it's ever before.Certainly does the trick with liquid courage warming his face moreso, and his one hand urges to stroke himself off, the other picks up the remote. He turns the tv on, it doesn't matter what channel tonight. Something to fill the room with noise, and maybe his other selves will come back wanting more. Or even coming through it, who knows? He'll take anything that resembles him at that point. And the flatscreen turns on, a sudden flash of light that startles him past the daze, before it disappears and all that's left is a vertical white line from afar. But the show moves closer to it, quiet, even as he increases the volume.

"Is that a stripper pole?" He squints, moving closer to the tv even as the camera is already pointing right at it. There are no defining means that make it a stripper pole; no spotlights, no crowds, no music either. If only he can be on that pole tonight. He has one down in his basement but it's so far away and he's too horny to turn its locking mechanisms or find its specific remote, especially in his now-tipsy state. His eyes turn to the foyer, maybe it's somewhere in a drawer, or towards the kitchen that he's hid it some time before

'Sexy'.

Dexter's attention returns to the screen with more intent, his shaft underneath bouncing to the voice. The first unique sound he's heard all night that has got his tail wagging too. A lustful and playful tone, inviting, enticing him.

'Sexy'.

It warms his chest, a blush across his face as his tongue rolls out panting. He doesn't know who's saying it but he wants to please them more, all while fixated on the stripper pole with its reflective shine alluring him.

'Sexy'.

It's more playful, and is coming from the tv itself. And Dexter reaches out to it like he does to his mirrors. The closer his paw, he notices the lack of a reflection from the tv's screen, realizing then that he can go through it. His eyes widen, turning to his bottle on the coffee table, wondering if that's what makes him hallucinate. And he crawls to it and takes another good swig, almost finishing the whole thing.

'Come here my sexy stud,' the tv calls out once more.

Dexter's face is now fully flush from the booze, slogging towards it with bottle in hand, and his dick swinging out side to side as pre dribbles down onto the floor. "I'm coming," he replies playfully. Looking forward to putting on a show for whoever is calling to him, hoping it's still himself.

The closer he is to the tv, he can see black liquid ooze around and beyond it, slowly expanding itself as if the borders of the screen aren't there anymore. It sets off a pleasant-smelling odor that tingles him all around– rather it's an aphrodisiac that hardens his dick further, almost begging for release. His long shaft standing at attention, his thong still there but is just an afterthought now. But in his stupor, he realizes that the heat is gone, and turns to see darkness. Not a foreboding sense, rather cool and inviting, as if he's back in the Latex Lair.

After stepping through the TV screen, the flooring is black tiles with glitter sparkling on them. But it's not the whole room, just a path that leads to the pole much farther than he's been led to believe. He walks to it, almost straight with a few missteps here and there. He can handle his liquor, this far from his first rodeo after all. At least this illusion or dreamlike state doesn't make the pole go away the closer he is to it.

Dexter holds the pole upon reaching it, his heart thumping suddenly as if it's meant for him. He smiles, knowing full well of what he's going to do. His bottle is set aside some steps away as he'll be impressing someone tonight. And he takes position beside it, letting his cock stick out as he walks around, holding onto it. Hips swaying, tail wagging and clinging onto it too, winking at the darkness, knowing full well someone is watching him tonight. "Ready?" He whispers out.

And though he does not see, nor hear, he knows there's a nod from the shadows. Then music starts playing, a low electronic drum beat with saxophone accents, and the subtle trumpet and bass here and there. It's Dexter's cue to mount the pole and spin around it, holding in his liquor, as well as his form in a majestic display of the old man's stamina and endurance. There's a spotlight somewhere as it shines on him, the floor beneath glittering, so does the sweat on his body, showing the curvature of his abs through his fluff, and his calves and biceps too. Whoever is watching is pleased, a hidden smile across an unseen face. But he does hope there is more than one watching him, dick tingling at the thought that it might even be himself watching. His biggest fan.

His routine continues onto a feat that he's proud of; where he spins on the very pole with just his legs while upside down and facing the absence of a crowd. Flexing his core strength, holding onto near the base of the pole, anchoring himself with his arms as he 'steps-off' it, landing his feet perfectly as he pushes himself upward, grinding his length against the cool metal, warming and musking it up with his pre.

There's an applause from one man– it's always a man to him. But it's illusive as it surrounds him, emulating that of the thousands of fans watching him. But this is just the beginning of his sequence as several mirrors surround him in a hexagonal shape. Tears of joy flowing down his cheeks as he sees himselves, all six of them and disregarding any sense of physics tonight.

Music starts picking up as the tune becomes lively, being brought in by the riff of an electric guitar followed by the haze of a maroon light coloring the stage. Just like his personal lair and his specialized room, but now enticed by other hims. He starts off with swaying his hips, as do his reflections, and he can't help but stare at their dicks. He turns around next, wanting to see his own ass, firm yet plump, spreading them with one hand to show his tight pink hole.

"I miss you guys," he shouts out to them. But they don't answer back apart from a single nod, together as one. It's enough for him as he assumes the pole once more, twirling around it, spinning himself around and watching his other selves do it too. Without an ounce of being disoriented which in itself is a feat after having done this for decades now, especially while under the influence of liquid courage.

Dexter starts panting, not from exhaustion though. He can keep this up all night but now and then he'll glance at his own dick, and that of his reflections eager to spill their seed. Not yet though, wanting to indulge his libido even more. His dick continues to throb as the room starts to feel warmer, and that erotic scent comes back. It's not his musk but it melds so well with it. "Gods that's good," he mutters but his own voice echoes in his head. It's complimenting himself too. And the metal pole he's been dancing on starts to blacken, its metallic shine turning into a firm-latex bar that is slippery enough for him to do his routine. He spins himself upwards of it before sliding down, hugging himself so close to it that his smeared pre shines against the light.

And he turns around then, stroking himself in the process. His other selves look sexy too, the way their large shafts keep producing pre with every stroke, disappearing into the black floor below. Its texture is the same as the pole too. He leans back against it and slides up and down, building momentum with every stroke of his cock.

"Hey, sexy," Dexter tries calling out to the one in front of him, but he notices that it's only their lips that aren't moving. Yet they still look at him with lustful eyes the same way he looks at them. Their stares cross, glancing at each other's shafts. And he turns his head to the others and they turn their heads to him too. One of them winks though, and he winks back at them. "I love you guys," even if they're quiet. Stroking himself with both hands now, he feels an approaching climax that he wants.

"So close," he whispers with great need. And it echoes around him, his other selves on that same brink with him too. Knowing it though, he edges himself for a moment, then another. He feels his own hot breath going over his fur and against his sensitive cock, and he sees the others reaching their limit too.

"Cum for me, stud," the whisper demands him, still playful. It's almost like his voice too, something he should've been saying to his reflections. It's a delight to his ears yet again, to hear another voice. And the scent has something to do with his willingness to listen to it, normally not one to subject himself to another person's whims, even if it's himself.

"Yes, master," it rolls off his tongue so well. And he's not one to question it tonight if it means being allowed to cum already. His body betrays him for a moment however, still insistent on edging him. The way his muscles writhe for a release, almost like his seed is about to spill out from his tip. He can emulate that sensation of climaxing already but it's only half as good as actually doing so. Whimpering along to someone else's whims has never felt so good.

And he can see it on their faces too, biting their lower lips, others panting, eyes wincing with pre-orgasm faces. Dexter can hear their pent up need to release too in his own head. He wants to see and hopefully feel it up close too. Stepping off the stage and going for the handsome man who also approaches him, teasing his own nipples while stroking himself closer.

Dexter notices that the black fur had been a latex suit this whole time, detailed in a manner to resemble his own pelt. Yet it brings out his olympian physique that he flaunts and fawns over. He brings up his black shaft against the mirror, as does his other self, it too covered in latex and gushing out that same material. And he looks into his eyes, not red like his own. Instead it's purple irises that have this white glowing spin behind them that he can't help but stare into. He brings his hands up against the mirror, feeling the heat of his partner's paws, and their dicks frotting against each other. And their muzzles pressed up, feeling his warm breath brush against his but he can't help still feel that glass divide. The color intensifies the heat he's feeling inside, but removes the sense of control over himself. The capacity to move his arms and legs being chipped away by this, dare say, hypnotic sensation.

"Beautiful, you're beautiful," Dexter praises him. And he musters his strength as much as he could to stroke himself to his well deserved climax. He can see his doppelganger do the same too, smiling wider than he is. The other mirrors close in on him too, now surrounded by five other Dexters without the edges of the glass to distract him, almost like they're beside each other. He can feel the heat of their hardons emanate against his rear, their lustful panting, and the overwhelming amount of musk that makes his balls ache and quiver.

"Cum," his reflection in front orders him to.

That word alone is enough to push him over his climax without any more of those pesky mental barriers. Dexter shoots a long string of his seed upward, eyes closed and his tongue out in the hopes of having a few spurts paint his face. A streak of white that starts to fall down onto the reflection in front of him, followed by another, and a third. He continues to jerk himself off as he releases onto his self, as do his other selves behind him moan out as they spilled their seeds too.

A hot bliss courses through his body, a satisfaction that he's able to unload what has been pent up for hours now. That salty sticky mess on the mirror and on him, his partners look good in white after all. He opens his eyes to those mirrors stained with his milk, but gone are his selves. And as his spunk dribbles down, he sees a shade of purple light trailing off it. When he tries to wipe it away, it unveils this purple glow. The same shade from his reflection's eyes. There's no panic here though, rather mellow and relieved. Relieved to have climax, relieved to be in the presence of someone who admires him, and relieved to know that this someone knows what he's into as well.

He's wiped the mirror, semen sticking to his forearm, and it's this spiraling purple screen. And it's pretty. Dexter smiles as his own eyes slowly adapt to its color, that red shade turning into a maroon where in the center is a white spiraling line. All his inhibitions prior have been lifted off his shoulders. That same wordless call to him is now here, in this very room.

The mirrors have retreated back to where they were, and the stripper pole in the middle of the room is covered in flowing latex-like goo. Dexter approaches it yet again, this time with much more want for it than ever before. His cock, limp from earlier climax, now stands at attention much harder than before. There's a hidden and encouraging force that nudges him, telling him that, "This is what you need, isn't it, Dexter?" A black mass of his fetish, with its dark latex shine. Desire, plain and simple.

"It is," Dexter agrees in a low enthused tune. More of his worries have been taken away. The bad history, all those regrets, the fears, and the shame just gone with every step closer to his calling. And there is no shame to be had, being completely naked now as his thong is gone. Though not like that mattered. Every part of him is in full view for his audience of one to see.

"Now be a slut and dance for me some more," it's his own voice, sing-song tone that can demand off him on a whim.

"Yes, sir," his gratitude and obligation fills him with satisfaction. And he holds onto the pole first, striking a pose as the flowing latex starts to lather his paws, spreading and covering his fur. There's no fear, and he in fact welcomes it. This missing piece of him as he slowly becomes one with it. Those maroon eyes now slowly turn purple as the goo spreads past his shoulders and across his body. Despite his familiarity with latex, it feels like a second– no, true skin to him. Encasing him in warmth that thumps his heart faster, excited as his nipples are now bumps in his engulfing suit. He proceeds to dance as he is coated in it, a tune promptly playing to match his mood. Instead of drums, saxophones, and guitars, it's sitars, flutes, and a winding distorted tune; all of them building up as he is engorged by the latex more. Those abs are more pronounced in its shape, as are the curves on his muscle. His thighs follow next, then his legs, and his crotch after.

Dexter can feel this black mass fondle him down there, almost distracting him from his transforming routine. This substance pressing all the right buttons against his orbs, almost like a mouth is massaging them. He can feel it lapping at him as it engulfs the fluff in its rubber-like texture. And his long shaft follows suit, the sensation similar to his other selves reeling back from a deepthroat. His tail wags side to side, stiffly as it too is covered in black. Lastly his head, the latex substance creeping up his neck, passionate licks past his fluff, and a gentle hand resting on his cheek as it smothers him too. It covers him, wearing a mask of his wolf-shaped head, but its eyes are covered by a translucent material where he can peer out but nobody can look within. After all, what's there to look into? He's, "A slut. That is what you are, Dexter." His own voice tells him. Not in any convincing tone anymore. It's just a matter of fact now. His dance finishes with a leg-spreading kneel while he leans back against the pole, showing off his new features, and one that is the lack thereof.

"No," the other voice taunts him. The same one that has invited him into its domain, "You're a Latex Slut."

"I'm a Latex Slut," Dexter admits. And it feels good to have done so. A completion of his identity. He lets out a sigh but it can't escape his mask. Now he looks at a mirror, wondering what he looks like.

He likes what he sees, this black wolf, fur-less and shiny, but he's taken aback by his missing shaft. A cold shiver runs down his thighs as he looks down to see his null state, and yet he feels the latex giving him a great head right now. It's throbbing in something alright. There's a slight dissociation that almost sends him into a panic, his paws now in the shape of latex mittens pressing in between his legs. And his worries wane once again when his eyes catch a glimpse of that purple pattern on the mirror in front. "I should accept it," he thinks aloud.

Dexter is torn between the thought of his dick being missing. And yet still pleasured, even as a purple lock glows over his null-bulge. Despite the circumstances, his tail wags knowing it's pleasing the audience of one. He stands up, wanting to appreciate this new self more.

"Sit, mutt," the voice orders. It's devious now, but that's what makes him want to obey it even more.

And Dexter sits like a common dog would. Behaving himself like the good housepet that he strives to be. To live up to their expectations is what only matters tonight.

"That's a good boy."

There's nobody walking towards him but feels that presence approach. It's not an invisible force, surely it's intangible. But he can feel his chin being caressed, scritching it through the mask, followed by a few pats on his head. Simple pleasantries that make him want to roll over, have his belly rubbed. Maybe given treats, or better yet, have his shaft returned in all its glory to show off to the other pets out there. That even in a wolf of his slutty position, he's still the best of them all.

"There are a great many things I want to do to you, slut," the voice says to him excitedly. Whoever it is almost giggled at the end of that.

Dexter feels the hand slide lower, down his body behind the latex. His cock throbs but there's nothing to be seen. Feels it, fighting the urge to thrust and stimulate it but the poor subby wolf can't do anything about it yet. And the same hand goes lower, along his hips, feeling it curve around into his thighs, right in between nothing. Even his nuts aren't there yet his master can feel them, gentle pats to remind him how plump they are even if he already came not too long ago. All he can do is whine.

"Stand up, slut," his master says. And he obeys. In doing so, it's as if more eyes are upon him. All his selves watching him be subjected to a form of humiliation. They all smile, echoes of howling follow from above where he cannot see. Dexter looks around confused, stunned, yet aroused all the same. And because of this, they cheer him on.

"Dance for me again," it whispers beside his ear. The latex pup-wolf hangs onto the pole first, awaiting the music. It arrives in the form of low strums, a tune he's not familiar with. Just pulls on bass strings without the brass that he loves so much. He spins around, swaying his ass for all of them to see. And halfway through the routine, something clicks from his backside, followed by hot air blowing against his rear that almost makes him let go of the pole as he spins around it.

His selves holler at him and his exposed ass. Dexter knows to give them an eyeful so he rests his shoulder against the pole and reaches for his rear to spread it open, showing off a tight pink hole. After exposing himself, he's received a warm slick treatment on his behind. Someone his tonguing along his taint, then across his pink hole. With widened eyes he looks between his legs but there's no one there. His curiosity does not linger as he loses himself in the bliss of that tongue prodding him now, slithering inside as he lets out a howling moan.

"What a whore," his master teases. Followed by the chanting of 'slut' and 'whore' from his own voices.

"So fucking good," Dexter thinks, hanging onto the pole as the tip of this slippery insert has bumped against his prostate, leaving him knock-kneed with his hole moist and twitching, still tight as nothing's really entered him yet. His crotch is surely damp in something, but he's not felt the release yet. It's still inside his suit, somewhere, as he can feel his pre coating his entire length and nuts.

And then a sudden sharpness prods at his rim, and he looks in between his bent knees to see a black dildo prod at his entrance. It looks like a carbon-copy of his shaft, but it isn't. He's not feeling anything from his own cock and wishes it's his own dick fucking himself. This is cruel yet pleasant at the same time, Dexter grunting through gritted teeth even if the toy hasn't gone in yet. He tries to thrust forward to feel anything down there, but instead slides half the length into him, and his moans are less majestic, more like a bitch in heat begging for more. That is what Dexter does as he slides the dildo into himself as he hilts into it more, stretching his insides further until it hits his prostate yet again. At that point he's collapsed on the stage, hands still holding onto the pole as his legs give out from the immense pleasure that he can't just release.

His surroundings erupted in laughter and howls, cheers and jeers at how silly Dexter looks right now. But the slut-wolf on stage only feels enjoyment, his missing cock twitching at his belittlement. He turns himself around and lifts his leg, showing himself in such a humiliating position as he tightens his hole against the toy, which nudges itself against his reaction. Then the outward flaps close his rear side then.

"Get up, slut." It orders with a growl underneath his breath.

Dexter's muscle memory jerks him to stand up straight. Now at attention, arms to his side, heels together, and a big toy up his ass that he enjoys to clench against. He tries to stop his own tail from wagging but it's no use to hide something he enjoys in plain sight. The lull of the purple haze that appears on his visors now and then keeps him aroused, and wanting more.

That invisible hand feels him up again, Dexter much more tense than before. He stands at attention while he's being inspected. Trying to remain stiff while it tugs at his toy, and then something jolts– it's just a simple vibration that's caught him off guard.

"Stand up straight!" It demanded harshly, Dexter whimpering more as he bears the pleasure. While resisting the urge to grab at his own dick and jerk it off, or hump the ground or the pole in the vain hope of getting it to climax. His eyes dart around trying to find something to help him get off though.

"Now dance some more," it whispers to him playfully. "I'm sure a wolf of your stature can pull it off, right?"

"Yes, master." Dexter complies, attempting to dance while his toy wriggles further in him. The motions of his legs, mixed with the vibration, tries to slide out whenever his legs are together, only for it to go back in when he splits. The dance he's doing fumbles plenty of times that he pauses mid spin, or keeping himself locked in place as the wave of sensations washes through his body. Lust and limb pushing him out there further, pleasing his master for sure. He uses this opportunity to grind his crotch against the pole. And he tries to make it into a dance, pretending that his master doesn't know what he's doing. But who was he fooling?

"Tut, tut, slut. You're not cumming until I say so, and I love what I'm watching."

Dexter stifles another moan at the surge of vibration up his rectum that, by now, he would've cum ten times over. He's back on his knees, still trying to step around the pole, trying to lift himself into its spin but at the end of his routine, he rests the pole between his butt cheeks, hearing that metal vibrate. Next attempt at stimulating himself is with his fingers pinching his nipples underneath all that latex. A lot of squeaking and squelching noises from built-up sweat.

"Stand up again, Dexter," the voice is behind him. And the wolf can feel that invisible presence standing with him. "Hands behind your back, private."

"Yes, sir," he assumes the rest position where his hands are behind his back, and his legs spread open. Wincing behind his mask as he resists the toy, though it has calmed down since he's gotten up. A merciful mast– someone's licking his nipples through the fabric followed by an invisible vibrating bullet rubbing against them. He fights to keep his mouth shut but something tugs at the vibrator in his asshole again, and he can only contextualize himself stomping in frustration as he wants to cum."

"You won't cum if you flinch." it devilishly says.

Dexter doesn't answer, fearing that a moan will escape his lips the moment he opens it. And he doubles down on his pose, closing his eyes to not the darkness but those same hypnotic patterns. Whenever he opens them, it fades rather than vanishing. That lingering sensation never goes away. His body is like a stringed instrument, where every touch, flick, tug, and strum lasts for moments but it doesn't end as more hands are all over him. And he can feel the premonition of something to come, hoping that it's him. But a hot sensation is about to strike his rear. He's about to be– *SPANKED*.

A loud slap that echoes around the room and goes back to him in the form of another. He's trained to expect pain but not the opposite of it. His breathing quickens as opposed to moaning, and caressing hands soothed his battered bottom before another wave of smacks and hits. He craves it, especially as the strong hand hits the bare fur itself. And then he's groped down there, followed by prying fingers that trace along his perineum, and around his dildo'd hole. More curious tugs, some really trying to pull it out only to push it back in, the vibrating tip striking his perineum again.

Dexter's body is at the brink of collapse whether he gets to climax or not. Tears flow down his eyes from the overstimulation without relief. But no one can see it behind his mask. They know. They grin. They cherish that fact and giggle about it as more hands adore his muscles, thighs, and toned abs. Especially those. All of them sending tingles to nowhere. He wants to stomp. He wants to let himself succumb to the sensations so that if he can't cum then, he can at least wallow in wave after wave of self pleasure.

There's that grasping sensation between his legs again, sliding up past his null crotch, teasing the lock imprint on his latex suit. And it ascends past his abs and along his sides before it finally rests on his cheek, where an invisible force kisses him deeply, going past the mask. Their tongues toying with each other but Dexter can only feel the open air and the occasional latex from the very tip. But once their lips part, it all just seems to vanish.

Nothing but the latex on his fur. His cock is still somewhere out there, hard and leaking pre. But the painful-pleasure of being spanked, as well as the tingles in his nulled-loins, the impassioned heat lingering in his head is just gone. Exhumed from his system but not through the much needed release. He wants the release.

"Does the poor wolf want to cum so bad?" It dangles that temptation over him.

Dexter keeps his frailing stoicism, but kneeling down as he submits fully to the unknown force. He just wants to cum. It doesn't matter if he's in the suit, or if he's subjected to that kind of sensation again, as long as he gets to blow his load at the end of it. He's at his final straws before he will start begging, or desperately grinding against the pole to try and emulate any kind of sensation. He will do anything.

And the voice, who can feel his emotions, can definitely read his mind, "Do anything, Dexter?" It smiles unseen, "Admit that you are an Omega Latex Slut, and that you are not allowed to proclaim yourself as the Latex Alpha again," his tone is a mix of sing-song and deviousness.

Dexter blinks, half wondering how simple it really is but his senses realizing that it has bigger implications to his very being. He tries to close his eyes to reflect on this but he's ensnared once again by the mesmerizing pattern that disarms any hesitation. There's even whispers around him to admit his true role. He's already a Latex Slut, what's wrong with being an Omega? The Alpha's opposite, the other side of his prideful spectrum. Does he really want to be the Alpha? He's always so adamant about it. Sure, adored, but not cherished or tested in this case. After all, he always wants to improve, to endure more. That is what being an Omega Latex Slut offers.

Can he be both, though? Dexter thinks so but he's not allowed to. Not anymore. No stresses, and being taken care of? It sounds so enticing that he starts to say, "I…" And he could feel the loosening on his crotch, the null-lock glowing as if to finally go away. All that sensation lost to him slowly creeps back, feeling the urge to sway his hips.

"You are?" The voice teases him again, caressing his waistline.

"I am…" the lock slowly lifts itself from the pad. And he can almost feel that ironic freedom. Most of all, he finally gets to cum. His own needy tool, for too long left in the dark, throbs as if he's removing a cock ring. He can feel his balls ache towards that built up release. "A…"

"A what, Dexter?" it whispers near quiet besides his ear, licking it even.

"An Omega…" it loosens even more now. His tail wagging as he starts panting, but stops realizing it only delays the sweet ambrosia that is his climax.

"Uh-uh, you gotta say it in one full sentence. Again, from the top."

And it's locked back in, the tightness returning as does the nullification of his pleasure. Dexter growls at himself for his blunder. Because without that sensation, the toy in his ass also feels more of an inconvenience too.

"I…" and the key turns the lock. Pleasure seeps in from his asshole going upwards.

"...Am an…" the inner mechanisms tumbled and turned. He can feel the delight in his head now.

"...Omega…" the lock itself has been lifted again from the pad. The intense heat from his loins and his head now course through his body as his balls ache for release.

"...Latex…" the lock shimmers away as he can now feel the tightness of his suit, the sweat within and its encapsulated heat. Oh how powerful his musk has been this whole time, intoxicating and addicting. He can now see his crotch bulge, with its own zipper slowly revealing his own prize.

"...Slut." And in its full erect glory, his length coated in pre that reflects light from an unknown source. It throbs, oozing so much more, to the sounds of cheers and chants of 'Omega, Latex, Slut' over and over in his head. Dexter pants as he reaches out to touch it, and it is truly there. An ache to then be satisfied, stroking it while fondling his nuts. Then it all comes back to him.

The vibrations, the admirations and jeers, and his own strong hand sliding across his cock with how moist it is. He's so needy, howling like a bitch with each stroke. Everyone quiets down to see this desperate wolf finally get his reward for submitting himself. Oh how it feels amazing, and how overly sensitive his cock is, but he's gotten so used to the nullification, it's almost as if he didn't want to cum anymore. But he fights off that idea, that it's all for that climax. The alluring tune, that purple pattern, and the willing subjecthood to a true alpha was all for this.

And he thrusts himself against both his hands stroking him off, grunting at each pace. He lets out a furious howl as he shoots his load, the farthest he has ever off the stage. His howl turns to a mewling whine as the toy in his ass vibrates even more, shooting off a farther load then. And then another spurt, shot after shot of his seed that glazes the floor in strips of white.

After a minute of firing, expending all that he's had, he collapses on his side hearing the buzz in his ass. It's good, all of this. Heavily breathing against his mask, feeling the built up heat of his exhalation kiss him right on the tip of his nose. It's so hot again, like it was before he ventured far off into the tv. When he closes his eyes, he can see that purple pattern once more, smiling against it as it starts to vanish. Not because he's blinked though, and he's wondered as to why he's starting to think differently then.

It all goes back into the darkness. The buzzing is still there, and that hot sensation over his body. It's not from the lust, but a natural heat instead. His aching muscles followed, and the musk after. He opens his eyes in wonder only to still see black, and the faint light from below his peripherals. Something's on his eyes.

And it clicks as he processes it now. Dexter puts his paws on his face to feel a bulging plastic brick– goggles. It's his visor, that he then lifts over his head and places aside on the bed. He's back in his room, covered in fresh cum. And that his impressive shots aren't exclusive to its dream, seeing it stain the ceiling above. He chuckles with embarrassment, especially at the thought of being caught like this. Though the heat is from the sunlight that's peeking through the curtain, carried over from the night prior.

"That was good," Dexter says to himself, satisfied with his purchase. This new toy of his is a simple visor, with a monthly subscription to a hypnotic app on his phone. Speaking of which, he checks up on it to see that it's got 5% battery left. He sets it to charge on the bedside drawer while he sits up then, ready to start the day after a hot, in two ways, night. Scratching his butt, he realizes that he doesn't have the toy in him anymore, "Maybe I should get a dildo based on myself." Glancing down to see his large flaccid shaft, letting off a powerful musk. His eyes train on the bathroom. It's about time he gets himself cleaned up.

"See you soon…" that voice trails off.

****