His plaything for the night

As his target still wasn't moving away from his device, the shapeshifter put his hand on the ample furry legs of his target. the wolf jumped from surprise, making his phone slipping away from his hands. he tried to grab it but failed.

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Alpha of His Dreams

It held his sweaty stink well, and the scent of his power rang true in his nose, a testimony to his pride and prowess.

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The Orc and His Wolf

Zur'tak had always envied his partner's flexibility, and watched fascinated as the wolf used his tongue to clean his own sheath, then his balls, and finally his asshole, until no cum remained on his beautiful black fur.

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The World at His Feet

Barron leaned back at his desk, stretching his arms over his head. the tall, dark-furred wolf typed a few things on his keyboard, taking notes, as the machinery hummed nearby in his lab.

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The Gladiator And His Mistress

There was a leather vest under that, protecting his shoulders but leaving his arms bare, and other than his sturdy boots he neglected to wear armour on his legs.

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His Brother's Heat

Oscar's mind returned to the present and he saw that his mate and his brother had since left the living room. he shook his head as dread filled his heart. he stood up. his ears could already detect the sounds.

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Taking What's His

The scent coming from his cave was enticing, instantly making his cock grow hard, pushing his loincloth to the side. someone was in heat. he drew in a long breath, taking the scent through his body. his cock slid out fully, his knot inflating some.

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His New Hoard 4: The Necromancer's Secrets

The frigid air had settled down into his core, and he was barely able to shift his eyes, let alone his head.

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His Submissive Son

It would take a lot of work to look that damn good in such a thin coat of hair, his hide sensitive and vulnerable and his arse _perfect_ for grabbing and groping, squeezing those hot zebra-buns together to make his hole all the tighter for his father's breeding

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Vengeance on his Hole

He rolled his hand sideways, grinding the sides of his wrist against that pucker as it tried to close against his hand, only to yank his fist back out. pop. pop. pop. pop.

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