Notte

Lecture - [Patreon Exclusive]

"Welcome back home~"

Hay - [Patreon Exclusive]

Due to recent (?) Patreon's policy, I will not be able to post the images stories in the image description. I'll try a work-around by upload it as an image!

Sorry for the inconvenience.

Notte

Onsen

His name wasn't on any brochure.

Guests at the high-rise spa just asked for "the snake". Word spread fast, about the pressure of his hands, the way his coils wrapped around your thighs, the heat of his breath on your neck.

They said his touch got deep.

Too deep for some.

Just right for the ones who came back.

He worked in Room 47. Dim lights. Thick steam. A low table with a single folded towel. He didn't speak your language, but somehow you understood him. He nodded, undressed you with his eyes, and pointed to the mat.

His hands were slick and heavy. They didn’t glide. They pushed. Dug. Worked every knot in your back until you twitched under the towel. He noticed.

“あなたもここで緊張しています” he said once, fingers pressing between your cheeks, slow and firm.

He knew how to draw it out of you: your breath, your sweat, the low grunt you made when his scaled body pinned your legs open. No small talk. Just the drag of muscle on muscle, his tail sliding over your belly, your cock throbbing as he worked you past relief.

He never asked for tips.

Just looked you in the eye when you came, coiled around your hips, and said, “あなたにはこれが必要でした”

Bowser Day 2025

The koopa king is bigger, badder and sexyer every year ♥

Bigger - [Patreon Exclusive]

MASON: Morning, sunshine.

MASON: (grinning) Where’d this cute little tummy come from, huh?

CHARLIE: (chuckling, leaning back into him) Maybe from all the late-night snacks someone keeps bringing to bed.

MASON: Guilty. But it looks good on you.

CHARLIE: (smirking) Flattery won’t get you extra pancakes.

MASON: Hmm… what about kisses?

CHARLIE: Tempting. We'll see how good they are first.

Sleeping Giant - [Patreon Exclusive]

I wasn’t supposed to be out this far. The trail had long disappeared behind me, swallowed by thick moss and shafts of golden light piercing the canopy. I liked hiking alone: the silence, the hum of distant birdsong, the grounding feel of earth under my boots.

I saw him before I heard him. Sprawled beneath an ancient tree: a massive beast, utterly unbothered by the world around him. His broad back rested against the bark, one hand relaxed on his thick belly, the other curled in the grass. Sunlight kissed every curve of him, from his powerful chest down to the heavy swell of his thighs.

My breath caught. I froze, watching him, unsure if I was trespassing into some sacred moment or just witnessing something wild and free. His body was unreal: built like a mountain, covered in a rich russet coat that glowed where the sun met it. His lips were parted in sleep, a faint sound in his throat, like a purr or a satisfied sigh.

I stepped closer without meaning to. Just a little. I wanted to breathe him in: the scent of fur, forest, and something warm and heady. My heart thudded.

Then, his eyes opened.

Half-lidded. Drowsy. But they locked onto me with knowing ease. A slow, rumbling grin curled across his muzzle. He didn’t move.

I stood there, caught between the instinct to bolt and the strange, burning curiosity to stay.

His gaze said it clearly: "You found me. Now what are you going to do about it?"

I didn’t even realize my hand was moving until it hovered just above him, above it. Thick, heavy, warm with its own heat like a sun-soaked stone. The size of it was staggering, almost surreal; easily as thick as my forearm, resting across his thigh with a lazy sort of gravity. Everything about him was oversized, wild, unapologetically alive.

I hesitated, fingers trembling. I could feel the warmth radiating from him, the faint pulse of blood and breath in sync. He didn’t stop me. His eyes, half-lidded and glinting, watched with calm interest, like a predator amused by a curious little thing that had wandered too close.

My fingers brushed against the warmth of him, tentative at first, like touching fire to see if it burned. But he was no flame. He was heat, yes, but steady and grounding. His flesh was velvety and firm beneath my touch, impossibly thick and full of weight, pulsing faintly beneath my fingertips.

I traced along the length of him, marveling at the sheer scale, feeling more than seeing, because the moment had blurred everything else. My breath hitched as he gave a low sound, not quite a growl, not quite a sigh. His hips shifted subtly, like he was settling into the attention, inviting more.

I drew closer, my breath catching as the heat of him washed over my face like a wave. My lips were close enough now that the warmth of his body kissed my skin. The air was thick with musk, primal and intoxicating, and I gave in to the pull of curiosity that had been tightening in my chest since the moment I laid eyes on him.

I let my tongue flick out, a soft hesitant taste. The texture beneath was velvety, impossibly warm, and the flavor that met me was… intense. Not just physical, but real. Raw.

Above, the bear exhaled slow and low, like a growl tamed by amusement. His hips didn’t move, but there was tension now, a slight shift in how his paw gripped the earth beside him. He was aware, fully and utterly present. And still, he offered no words, no instruction. Just his body: vast, powerful.

My cheeks burned, not from shame but from the weight of the moment, from how close I was to something unapologetically masculine.

Yank - [Patreon Exclusive]

Kael and Tak were old friends, comrades of the hunt who’d long discovered the thrill of fucking in the wild, their passion a dirty secret shared between snarls and claws.

Today, the air was thick with their need, the forest itself seeming to pulse with their heat.

Raj braced against a cluster of bamboo, standing tall, his powerful legs spread wide, ass arched in brazen invitation, his heavy breaths dripping with horny anticipation. Kael growled, low and guttural, his arousal jutting proudly as he closed the distance. He didn’t pounce: he loomed, pressing his chiseled frame against Raj’s back, claws raking lightly down the tiger’s flanks, just enough to make him shudder.

Kael took him, rough and relentless, his thrusts deep and punishing, each one a claim that shook Raj’s core. The tiger’s moans were obscene, a slutty chorus of gasps and growls that bounced off the bamboo, his body rocking forward with every brutal drive, claws scraping the earth for balance.

Mid-rhythm, Kael’s paw shot out, seizing Raj’s striped tail in a firm, dominant grip. He tugged it gently, a slow, deliberate pull that made Raj’s eyes roll back, a choked whimper spilling from his lips as his body quivered with submissive bliss. “You like that, don’t you?” Kael snarled, his voice thick with lust, yanking again to punctuate his control. Raj’s response was a desperate, “Fuck, yes,” his voice raw, body trembling as he pushed back, greedy for every inch of Kael’s cock.

Their frenzy hit a fever pitch, and as Kael’s thrusts grew savage, his grip on Raj’s tail tightened, marking his control. Then it came: a torrential release, Kael unleashing liters of hot, thick seed deep inside Raj, filling him until the tiger’s belly felt taut, his body trembling as he became Kael’s bitch in every sense. Raj’s own climax erupted in a flood, strings of his own cum splattering the earth, his roars raw and broken as he shook under the panther’s weight, marked and claimed.

The forest drank in their excess, bamboo glistening with their mess Panting, still standing, they leaned into each other, slick with sweat and cum, the forest silent around them. Raj’s legs quaked, his body dripping with Kael’s dominance, their bond sealed in the filthy, primal aftermath of their lust.

Danger (?)

I knew he was out there. I could feel it long before I heard the heavy footfalls behind me, the way the forest held its breath, the silence that stretched just a little too long. Something was watching. He was watching.

And I kept going.

The thrill pulsed through my chest like a second heartbeat. Leaves snapped underfoot, branches whipped at my arms, and still I pushed forward, knowing full well he was closing in. That big bastard of a bear. All heat and hunger.

I never stood a chance.

He hit me like a landslide: thick arms wrapped around my waist, hauling me off the ground like I weighed nothing. My back hit the forest floor, soft moss and hot breath in my ear. I squirmed, half-heartedly, teeth bared in something between a snarl and a grin. My tail twitched. My heart roared.

“You ran well,” he growled into my neck, his voice so deep it vibrated through me. “But not fast enough”

I was... in danger (?).

Close - [Patreon Exclusive]

S T R E T C H Y ♥

Slop - [Patreon Exclusive]

Notte was impossible to miss on the dance floor, a loud, grinning burst of energy in kangaroo form, bouncing to the beat like the music lived in his veins. He knew everyone, hugged strangers like old friends, and flirted like it was sport. And every weekend, without fail, he made a beeline for Riv.

Riv ran the lights and visuals from the booth above. He always acted unimpressed, rolling his eyes at Notte’s shirtless strutting and flashy jockstraps, but his gaze lingered every time.

They’d been teasing each other for months. Touches that stayed a little too long. Dares traded across the club floor. One night, Notte yelled up at him between sets, “Bet you’d look better under me than behind that board!”

Riv just laughed, but Notte didn’t miss the way his ears twitched.

That morning, the club spilled out onto the wet sidewalk at 5AM. Notte, still glowing from dancing and drinks, caught Riv just as he was lighting a cigarette.

“Wanna crash at mine?” he said, grinning. “Promise I’ll only make you regret it a little.”

Riv scoffed. “I’ll regret it when I can’t walk tomorrow.”

They both knew what that meant.

Notte’s apartment was chaotic: half clothes, half car parts, the rest pure ego. But Riv didn’t care. Not with the way Notte yanked him inside, kicked the door shut, and kissed him like the whole night had been foreplay.

By the time the rain had stopped, the beddings were messy, the air thick with heat, and Riv was panting beneath him, flushed and soaked.

And from then on, Notte made sure he never left the club alone again.

Evans

Evans had always been too big for the office.

Not just in build, though the tailored shirts had never quite managed to button over his broad chest and powerful shoulders, but in spirit. He was restless behind a desk, bored of boardrooms and fake smiles. So one summer, without warning, he left it all. No resignation letter. Just a wink to his boss and the heavy thud of his hooves down the hallway.

Now, Evans runs Coconut Drift, a beach bar nestled between sun-bleached dunes and endless surf. He built it with his own hands, muscles flexing in the sun as the locals watched with more than curiosity. The bar’s a magnet now, for tourists, thrill-seekers, and anyone craving a little escape. And Evans? He serves them all with a smirk and a shake of his mane, shirt half-unbuttoned, fur kissed golden by the sun.

He’s got a reputation: charming, daring, and just suggestive enough to make even the shyest guests blush behind their drinks. He leans in close when he talks, voice low, breath warm, always teasing. You never quite know if he’s just being nice or if the heat in his gaze means something more.

But everyone who’s been to Coconut Drift remembers him.

Some say it’s the cocktails.

Others say it’s the way Evans looks at you, like he’s already imagined what you taste like with salt on your skin.

Soaking Wet - [Patreon Exclusive]

The late afternoon sun glimmered off the ocean, casting golden streaks across the wet sand. Cale, a young buck with sleek, salt-dappled fur, stepped out of the waves with droplets clinging to his flanks. His swim trunks hung low on his hips, heavy from seawater, clinging to the curve of his toned body.

He thought the beach was empty, just gulls and the whisper of tide pulling back. His breath still ragged from the swim, Cale wandered up the shore, out of sight behind a dune crowned with tall grasses. There, with the sea breeze teasing through his fur, he peeled off the soaked fabric.

His fingers roamed slowly, brushing over his own belly before slipping lower. The thrill of the ocean still hummed in his limbs, mixing with a warm ache growing beneath his skin.

Rage (1992)

It’s 1992. The house is quiet, your parents finally asleep after the evening news. You sneak out from your room, socks whispering on the carpet, a bowl of cereal in your hands. The warm glow of the CRTV hums in the living room. You flip it on, aiming for Saturday Supercade or DuckTales reruns. But your thumb slips on the bulky plastic remote.

Static, then... her.

Maybe it was a glitch in the universe, a signal meant to awaken something deep in the back of your developing brain.

From that moment on, every girl in school looked different. Every magazine ad carried potential. And that one image burned into your memory with scanlines and static, would become the blueprint of your fascination for years to come.

You never found the channel again. But you remember her.

And your life was never the same.

SPQR - [Patreon Exclusive]

The siege of Syracuse had ended in triumph for the Roman legions, their banners of crimson and gold fluttering over the shattered citys' walls. The air reeked of smoke and victory as the legionaries strutted through the conquered city, their bronze armor clanking.

Among them, Gaius: a towering black-furred bull, his helmet etched with symbols of Mars. His dark eyes scanned the line of captives, landing on a reddish-brown kangaroo: "Kaelen", his comrades told him. Curious eyes, battle-ready body, binded wrists. Gaius snorted, his breath steaming in the cool afternoon air.

“That one,” he growled to his comrades, pointing a thick finger at Kaelen. “Bring him to my tent.” The other bulls chuckled, their own appetites stirred by the day’s conquest, but Gaius was their centurion, and his claim was undisputed.

Kaelen was led, ropes binding his wrists, to Gaius’s private tent at the camp’s edge. The crimson fabric casting shadows over a pile of furs and a low wooden table strewn with wine jugs. The musky scent of bull and leather filled the air, making Kaelen’s tail twitch nervously. Gaius loomed before him, unbuckling his greaves with deliberate slowness, each piece clattering to the ground to reveal hardened forearms, Kaelen’s gaze drifted lower, catching the obscene bulge beneath Gaius’s subligaculum, the linen undergarment barely containing his girth.

“You fought well, roo,” Gaius rumbled, his voice a low, gravelly purr as he stepped closer, untying Kaelen’s ropes with a single tug. “But Syracuse’s ours now. And you…” His massive hand grazed Kaelen’s jaw, tilting his head up. “You’re mine.”

Kaelen’s heart pounded, a mix of fear and something hotter coiling in his gut. He should have resisted, should have spat defiance, but the bull’s raw power, the sheer size of him, sparked a shameful thrill.“

"I… won’t fight you,” Kaelen murmured, his voice catching as his eyes flicked downward again.

Gaius smirked, following his gaze, and with a slow, deliberate motion, he tugged off his subligaculum. His cock sprang free, thick as Kaelen’s forearm, veined and glistening, a monstrous thing that made the kangaroo’s breath hitch. “Gods,” Kaelen whispered, his own arousal stirring beneath his tattered tunic. Gaius’s grin widened, predatory and proud. “You’ll take it, roo,” he said, gripping Kaelen’s shoulder. “And you’ll love it.”

“On your knees, roo.” Gaius snarled, his voice a command that brooked no defiance. Kaelen hesitated, pride warring with the heat in his gut, but Gaius grabbed his scruff, forcing his muzzle against the bull’s massive shaft. The heavy flesh slapped Kaelen’s cheek, its weight staggering. “Look at it,” Gaius ordered, gripping his cock and slapping it against Kaelen’s cheek with a wet smack, leaving a slick string of precum clinging to the kangaroo’s reddish fur. Kaelen’s hands trembled as he touched it, fingers failing to encircle its girth. “Gods… it’s fucking huge,” he whispered, voice thick with awe, his own cock hardening fully.

“Lay,” Gaius commanded, his voice rough with need. Kaelen obeyed, heart racing as he positioned himself on his side, his powerful tail raised high. Gaius layid behind him, his calloused hands spreading Kaelen’s firm, furred cheeks, exposing the tight, pink ring of his entrance. Kaelen shivered, anticipation and nerves warring within him as Gaius spat into his palm, slicking his massive cock. “Relax, roo” Gaius murmured, pressing the blunt head against Kaelen’s hole. “You’re built for this.” The first push was slow, deliberate, and Kaelen gasped, his claws digging into dirt as Gaius’s girth stretched him impossibly wide. Pain flared, sharp and searing, but it melted into a strange, burning pleasure as the bull inched deeper, filling him in ways he’d never imagined.

“Fuck!” Kaelen cried, his body trembling as pain and pleasure collided. Gaius didn’t pause, his hips driving forward with brutal insistence, each inch of his massive cock stretching Kaelen beyond his limits. “So… fucking thick”. He savored every inch, the overwhelming fullness, the way Gaius’s cock pulsed inside him, claiming him utterly. His own erection bobbed beneath him, untouched, leaking onto the ground.

Gaius growled, his hands gripping Kaelen’s hips as he began to move, slow thrusts that rocked the kangaroo forward. “Take it, roo” Gaius snarled, “You’re mine.” his hips slapping against Kaelen’s ass with growing force. The tent filled with the sounds of their coupling: wet, rhythmic slaps, Kaelen’s breathless moans, Gaius’s low bellows of pleasure. Kaelen’s tail thrashed, his body yielding to the bull’s relentless pace, each thrust driving deeper, harder, until he felt Gaius’s heavy balls smack against his own.

“Harder!” Kaelen gasped, shocking himself with his need, his body craving the bull’s ferocity. Gaius obliged, his thrusts turning savage, each one slamming Kaelen forward, his hole clenching around the bull’s girth.

The kangaroo’s moans grew desperate, his tail thrashing as Gaius pounded him into submission, the bull’s dominance absolute.

With a primal roar, Gaius unleashed his climax, his cock pulsing violently as liters of thick, scalding cum erupted into Kaelen’s insides, flooding him in relentless waves. The sheer volume overwhelmed Kaelen’s stretched hole, gushing out around Gaius’s shaft in hot, viscous torrents, soaking his thighs and pooling beneath them in a sticky, musky flood. Kaelen’s own orgasm ripped through him, his cock spurting ropes of cum across the dirt, his body shuddering as he savored the bull’s impossible girth and the obscene, unending surge of seed claiming him. Gaius kept thrusting, milking every drop, his balls heaving with each pulse, leaving Kaelen’s gaping hole dripping and his fur matted with the bull’s dominance.

When he finally pulled out, a torrent of cum dripped from Kaelen’s stretched, gaping hole, pooling beneath them.

Kaelen collapsed, panting, his body aching but alive with a sated euphoria. Gaius loomed over him, his massive frame glistening with sweat, a satisfied smirk on his muzzle. “Good roo,” he growled, slapping Kaelen’s ass hard enough to make him yelp. “You took it like you were born for it.”

Kaelen, trembling, managed a dazed grin, his amber eyes gleaming. “Didn’t… expect to love it,” he rasped, savoring the ache of Gaius’s girth and the scent that branded him. “You’re… a fucking beast.”Gaius chuckled, pinning Kaelen with a heavy arm. “You’re my beast now,” he rumbled, and Kaelen, still marked by the bull’s seed, didn’t argue.

Tide

The ocean cradled him gently, its warmth soft against his scales. Twilight was settling in, turning the sky violet at the edges, the horizon blurred with fading gold. Fera floated near the surface, his broad form half-submerged, the only sound around him the slow pulse of waves lapping at his body.

He held the camera low in one claw, pointed vaguely toward his chest, unsure if he wanted to keep filming or turn it off. The idea had come to him on a whim, one of those late-night thoughts that didn’t seem real until it was already happening. He hadn’t planned to go this far. But the water felt good. The quiet felt good. And the thought of being seen, if only a little, sent a shiver down his spine that had nothing to do with the ocean.

His other hand hovered near his belly, fingers grazing along his softer underbelly, unsure, hesitant. He’d noticed it earlier, how his member had begun to peek free under the water, thick and flushed, pulsing with each heartbeat. He hadn’t expected it, but now he couldn’t stop feeling it... the pressure, the warmth, the way the water moved around it.

A nervous breath caught in his throat. He glanced at the camera again. Was it even pointed the right way? Did it matter?

This wasn’t meant to be a show. It was meant to be a memory. Something he could keep for himself, to prove he’d let go, just a little. That he’d let the moment carry him, naked in the open sea, touched by moonlight and the thrill of being exposed.

He sank a bit lower. One hand slipped down, slow and uncertain. His eyes fluttered shut.

He smiled, soft and red-faced. Maybe this time, he wouldn't delete it.

Here... ?

The city stretched below in a sea of light, its heartbeat pulsing steady and low. Veyron leaned into the terrace railing, cool stone pressing against his palms, while the heat rising from his skin told a different story. His shirt had already slipped from his shoulders, clinging to the bend of his arms as if hesitant to let go. A breeze curled around him, catching the open collar and tugging it further apart.

He tilted his head back, tongue lazily trailing past his sharp teeth, golden eyes flickering with something unspoken. Leather pants hugged every inch of him, tension stitched into their seams. He moved with slow intention, hips swaying slightly as he shifted his weight, never breaking the rhythm of the city behind him. Somewhere far below, sirens cried and engines groaned, but up here, only he existed.

A sound escaped him. A low, amused hum. He didn't speak, but the question hung thick between him and the empty space behind.

Here... ?

As if this was a place for holding back. As if the rooftop hadn’t seen the way he arched under the moonlight, the way his breath caught when fingers brushed skin. He rolled his shoulder, letting the shirt slip lower, baring more of his sculpted frame. One hand moved to his chest, slow, deliberate, fingers teasing along the edge of the tension building inside him.

The city could watch. The stars could bear witness. Up here, Veyron wasn’t hiding.

He was inviting.

Adrian

You almost didn’t say yes.

When Adrian leaned across your desk that afternoon, tie loosened, a knowing glint in his golden eyes, and asked if you had summer plans, you figured it was just casual small talk. But then came the offer: spend a few days with him down on the Amalfi Coast. “No pressure,” he’d said with a shrug, the way only someone like him could make a casual offer feel like an unspoken promise.

And now here you were.

The villa he’d rented was hidden above a crescent of untouched shoreline, carved into the cliffs like a secret. Everything smelled of citrus and sea salt, the air thick with heat.

You wandered down toward the water after waking up late, expecting to find Adrian with his phone in hand, maybe already halfway through a morning espresso. Instead, you saw him in the ocean. Naked.

Your breath caught.

The water shimmered around his dark frame, shoulders broad and glistening under the sun, each movement sending ripples down the heavy line of his back. He hadn’t noticed you yet, or maybe he had, and simply didn’t care. Adrian moved through the sea with the ease of someone who belonged to it, the surf breaking against his thick thighs, his tail lazily flicking behind him.

You stood frozen on the sand, unsure whether to call out or retreat, heart hammering in your chest. But then, he turned.

One word invaded your mind: "BIG".

His gaze found you. Steady. Calm. A slow smile curled at the edge of his mouth, not surprised, not embarrassed, like he’d planned for you to see this.

“Morning,” he called out, voice deep and velvety. “Took you long enough.”

You blinked. “You’re… you’re naked.”

“Of course I am,” he said, unbothered, one hand gliding back through the water. “It’s summer. And no one’s around for miles. Besides…” His eyes lingered on you. “You could use a swim too.”

Heat crawled up your neck. There was nothing in his tone that demanded, nothing that forced. And yet the invitation wrapped around your body like the sun itself. You hesitated for only a second longer before your fingers found the hem of your shirt.

This was no longer the Adrian you knew from conference rooms and late-night emails. This was something primal, effortless. A side of him reserved for places like this, where the suit came off and so did the rest, where the only things that mattered were touch, heat, and the way the water curled around bare skin.

You stepped into the sea.

The first steps into the water were the hardest. Not because it was cold - it wasn’t. The Mediterranean wrapped around your ankles like warm silk - but because Adrian didn’t look away.

He stood waist-deep, the sun at his back casting a golden glow across his broad chest, and his eyes never left yours. There was something magnetic about that gaze, something quiet and steady. No teasing smirk, no playful grin, just a certainty that made your skin tingle.

By the time the water reached your hips, he shifted slightly, wading closer. The waves swirled between you, soft currents brushing your thighs as you tried not to look... but failed.

The water lapped just beneath his hips, and what it didn’t cover, it revealed in suggestion. His heavy form moved with a slow grace, and the sea clung to every part of him, outlining the curve of his thighs, the cut of his abs, and lower… lower.

You caught a glimpse of them as the swell shifted: large, dark, and unmistakably full. His balls hung low between his legs, pendulous and relaxed in the warm water, like the rest of him: massive, unbothered, unapologetic. The sight made your breath hitch. There was no way he didn’t know what he was showing you.

Still, he said nothing. He tilted his head, eyes narrowing just slightly, as if watching your reaction was part of the pleasure.

“You alright?” His voice was a slow rumble, like thunder under a blanket.

You nodded too quickly. “Y-yeah. Just… enjoying the view.”

That got him to smirk.

He stepped closer, the water now up to your waist, and you could feel the warmth radiating off him even in the sea. His presence took up space, your space, he made you feel small.

His hand skimmed the surface, fingers idly trailing toward you, not quite touching. The silence stretched. So did the heat in your chest, in your stomach. Lower.

You didn’t know what would happen next, but your body leaned forward before your mind could catch up.

Adrian’s voice dropped, almost a whisper: “If you keep staring like that, I might get the wrong idea.”

You stared back, lips parting, voice caught somewhere in your throat. Maybe the wrong idea wasn’t so wrong after all.

You didn’t answer.

Instead, you let your body speak. A small step forward, then another, until the tips of your knees brushed his under the surface. The water stilled around you both, caught in that moment of gravity. Adrian’s breath deepened. You heard it, low and close, like the distant roll of the tide echoing in his chest.

He didn’t reach for you, not at first. His presence was enough to do the reaching. His chest, slick and massive, barely a hand’s width from yours. You could see every line of muscle carved beneath his dark hide, droplets sliding down the curve of his collarbone to vanish between the deep cut of his pecs. The scent of salt clung to him, mingling with something warmer… muskier.

Then his hand rose from the water, slow and deliberate, fingers brushing your waist.

His palm was broad, warm despite the sea, and when he touched you, it wasn’t rough. It was patient. He let it rest there, as if testing the weight of the moment, his thumb gently stroking your skin. The gesture sent a ripple down your spine. Your breath caught again, but this time, you didn’t try to steady it.

You looked up at him.

His eyes were hooded now, heat simmering in gold, locked onto yours. “You know,” he said, voice barely more than a breath, “when I invited you here, I wondered if you’d figure out what I really wanted.”

You swallowed. “And now?”

His thumb traced a lazy circle along your hip. “Now I’m wondering how long I can wait before I take it.”

The tension cracked, softly. Not a snap, but a surrender.

You leaned into him, chest against chest, water pooling between your bodies as your fingers skimmed along the hard planes of his abdomen. He was enormous, every breath he took making his torso rise against yours like a living wall. But you didn’t feel small. You felt wanted. Like he’d been holding back just for this moment.

Your hand slid lower, tracing the line of his abs, feeling the shift in his breathing when your fingertips flirted close to the heat below.

Then, his forehead met yours. Not a kiss, not yet. Just that shared breath, that pause where your lips hovered a hair apart. You felt his breath ghost across your mouth, warm and thick with the scent of sea and lust.

“I’ve been thinking about this since the day I saw you undo that first button in the office,” he murmured.

Your voice was barely there. “Then stop thinking.”

His breath mingled with yours, warm and heavy between parted lips. You could feel the moment hover, teetering, his hand still at your waist, the sea quiet around you both, as if the whole coastline held its breath.

Then Adrian closed the distance.

His lips met yours with surprising softness, belying the strength in his body. It started slow, exploratory. Not rushed. His mouth moved against yours like he was savoring you, one hand sliding from your waist to the small of your back, pulling you flush against him.

That’s when you felt it.

Thick and rising beneath the surface, brushing against your thigh, impossibly warm despite the water. Adrian’s arousal pressed into you with unmistakable weight, a slow, pulsing hunger that made your head spin. The kiss deepened, his tongue teasing yours now, more certain. His free hand rose to cradle your jaw, thumb stroking your cheek as if trying to ground you both.

The water sloshed gently around you, barely enough to hide the growing tension between your bodies. His chest was firm against yours, muscles shifting with each breath, each movement. You could feel him - all of him - lengthening, hardening, heavy between your bodies, pressing closer the longer you stayed tangled together.

You gasped into his mouth, and he caught it, kissed it back into you.

Your fingers gripped his waist underwater, holding onto the breadth of him as your own body began to ache in response, heat coiling low in your stomach. The feeling of his swollen length rubbing slow and lazy against your leg: thick, unhurried, almost teasing .Drove your thoughts wild.

He leaned in again, voice low against your ear. “You feel that? That’s what you do to me.”

You nodded, breathless, hips tilting instinctively closer. The water rippled with every motion, every growing need, but you didn’t care. You wanted him to feel you too, every bit as needy, as wound-up, as drawn in by the sheer gravity of him.

Adrian let out a soft grunt of approval, lips finding yours again, hungrier now, his hands roaming with more certainty.

The kiss deepened again, richer now, more demanding. Adrian’s hands had lost their earlier patience. One gripped your hip beneath the water, firm and possessive, the other sliding slowly down your back with a clear intention.

You barely had time to react before he shifted, his strength fluid and effortless. With a low growl against your neck, he turned you in the water, spinning you to face the open sea. The warm surf lapped at your chest now, and behind you, Adrian’s body pressed flush to your back: solid, hot, hard.

You gasped, heart pounding.

His hands explored you in this new position, sliding over your sides, gripping your thighs, dragging you back against him. You could feel his arousal now: undeniable, thick and heavy between your cheeks, nudging with slow precision as he rocked against you, letting you feel exactly what he intended.

His voice rumbled low in your ear. “You’re gonna take me.”

The words sent a full-body shiver through you, and your breath hitched when he leaned in further, chest against your back, his lips dragging slowly along your neck. One large hand found your waist again, holding you steady.

Then... you felt it.

That first pressure, hot and aching, pressing slowly into you. He didn’t rush. He let the stretch happen gradually, savoring it. The water eased the motion, but not the sensation. You arched into him as your mouth fell open, overwhelmed by the intensity, the sheer size of him, the way your body clenched instinctively, and the heat that pulsed through your core.

Adrian groaned behind you, low and deep. “You feel that?” he whispered, biting down gently on your shoulder. “So tight…”

You gasped, gripping the surface of the water, half-floating, half-held. He filled you slowly, inch by inch, his breath growing ragged with restraint. Each roll of his hips pressed him deeper, stretching you further, until your whole body trembled in his arms.

The sea rocked around you both, but it was nothing compared to the rhythm he built, controlled, deliberate, every thrust pulling a soft moan from your throat and a rumble from his chest. He wasn’t just taking you. He was claiming you.

And you wanted more.

His pace began to build, water splashing softly as his hips slapped against you, heavy and rhythmic. His fingers dug into your hips as he pulled you back into him, each movement drawing another wave of pleasure through your core. You could feel his breath on your neck, hot and needy, syncing with every thrust.

“Say my name,” he growled against your skin.

“Adrian…”

“Louder.”

You moaned it, half-whimper, half-plea, and he answered by driving in deeper, harder, until all you could do was hold on, dizzy from the sheer fullness of him.

There, in the salt-warm cradle of the Mediterranean, you surrendered, completely, while Adrian claimed you with every inch, every breath, every deep, unrelenting thrust.

The rhythm between you both built with unstoppable force, every movement from Adrian a powerful promise that left you breathless and trembling. The sea around you became a private world, a cocoon of salt and sun and heat where nothing else mattered.

His hands gripped your hips tighter, his breath ragged against your neck as his body pulsed in wild, intoxicating waves. You felt the tension coil tighter inside him, a deep, primal need that matched the ache burning through your own veins.

“Now,” he growled, voice thick with raw desire.

You arched back into him, every nerve alight, every sense magnified. The moment stretched and snapped, crashing over you in an endless surge of warmth and release that left you gasping, trembling in his hold.

Adrian’s body shuddered against yours, strong arms holding you close as he poured everything into that final, fierce motion, filling you with the strength of the sea itself. The rush was overwhelming, endless, like tides crashing against cliffs, powerful and relentless.

You clung to him, breath mingling, hearts pounding in perfect sync.

When the waves finally settled, all that remained was the steady rhythm of your shared breaths, the soft lapping of the sea, and the lingering heat of the moment between you.

As the waves calmed around you, Adrian’s strong hands slowly eased their grip on your hips, his movements gentle now, almost reverent. His breath was still heavy, his body trembling slightly from the intensity of the moment.

With deliberate care, he began to pull back, inch by inch, the warmth of his length still nestled inside you. When he finally slipped free, a thick, warm trail glistened along the curve of his shaft, catching the sunlight in a soft shimmer. The sight was raw and beautiful: a reminder of the closeness you’d just shared.

Adrian’s hand found yours, fingers entwining effortlessly. His gaze held yours, tender and steady, the fierce passion replaced with a quiet affection.

“You’re incredible,” he murmured, voice low and full of something deeper than desire.

You rested your head against his broad chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, feeling the warmth of his short fur beneath your cheek. The world around you faded again, leaving only this, soft touches, shared breaths, and the unspoken promise of what was still to come.

Embers - [Patreon Exclusive]

The forest air was thick with twilight haze as I pressed deeper into the wilds, each step snapping twigs beneath my boots. Then came the sound, low and guttural, a growl that froze me mid-stride. Through a break in the trees, he appeared.

An Arcanine. Towering and radiant, his fur shimmered with firelight hues, casting embers into the shadows around him. Muscles rippled beneath his coat as he moved with a slow, deliberate grace. His amber eyes locked onto mine, fierce and unwavering, lit with something raw, something hungry. My heartbeat stuttered under the weight of that gaze.

The air grew hotter as he approached, his presence overwhelming. There was no mistaking the tension that charged between us, nor the bold sign of his arousal, impossible to ignore. My breath faltered. Curiosity warred with instinct, but I didn’t move. I couldn’t.

Drawn forward by a mix of fear and fascination, I reached out: tentative at first, fingers brushing the fur of his underside. The texture was coarse but warm, almost electrified. Then lower, I cupped the full weight of him in my palm, startled by the heat, the sheer heft of it. He let out a deep, throaty sound, not of warning, but approval. My touch, it seemed, was welcome.

Heart hammering, I let my hand trace upward, wrapping carefully around the thick base of him. The sensation was shocking: firm, hot, and alive with pulse. He tensed, his body responding as if every nerve was wired to mine. His gaze flared brighter, a silent command in molten gold. Embers danced from his tail, casting sparks into the dusk.

The air charged, like a storm about to break. He leaned closer, enveloping me in heat, his breath coming harder, more deliberate. A sound escaped him: half growl, half whine, low and full of yearning.

I'm lucky: there's an empty spot in my team~

One of Us - [Patreon Exclusive]

The midday sun filters through the canopy, glinting off Korrak’s bared fangs as he circles Varkis. The younger gnoll’s tail twitches, his breath shallow. This is no gentle welcome; it’s a raw, primal claiming, a test of endurance.

Korrak growls low, a sound that vibrates through the earth, and shoves Varkis forward onto his hands and knees. The ground is rough with roots and leaves, scraping Varkis’s palms as he braces himself. Korrak’s dominance is absolute, his presence looming like a storm. Korrak’s thick, coarse fur brushes against Varkis’s back as he positions himself. His clawed hand grips Varkis’s hip, talons digging into flesh, drawing a sharp yelp. Korrak’s arousal is evident, his swollen cock, ruddy and slick with natural musk, presses against Varkis’s tight, unprepared entrance. The younger gnoll tenses, his body resisting the intrusion, but Korrak offers no reprieve.

With a guttural snarl, he thrusts forward, the blunt head of his cock forcing its way past the tight ring of muscle. Varkis gasps, his claws raking the dirt, pain and heat blooming as Korrak’s girth stretches him wide. The penetration is slow, deliberate, each inch a brutal claim, the slickness of Korrak’s precum easing the way only slightly. Korrak’s hips snap forward, driving deeper, the rough texture of his cock grinding against Varkis’s inner walls.

Korrak’s pace quickens, relentless, his heavy balls slapping against Varkis’s thighs with each thrust. The clearing echoes with the wet, obscene sounds of their coupling, flesh against flesh, Korrak’s growls punctuating every punishing stroke. Varkis’s cock, hard despite the pain, swings beneath him, leaking into the dirt as his body yields to the dominant gnoll’s rhythm. Sweat and musk mingle, coating their fur as Korrak’s claws rake down Varkis’s back, leaving red welts.

As Korrak’s thrusts reach a frenzied peak, his cock throbs violently inside Varkis, the thick shaft pulsing against the younger gnoll’s stretched, sensitive walls. Varkis’s body trembles, his muscles clenching involuntarily around Korrak’s girth, amplifying the raw intensity. Korrak’s claws dig deeper into Varkis’s hips, drawing pinpricks of blood as he snarls, his orgasm erupting with a guttural roar. Hot, thick streams of cum surge from his cock, flooding Varkis’s insides in forceful spurts, each pulse coating his inner walls with searing heat. The sensation overwhelms Varkis, his own cock jerking beneath him, untouched, as ropes of his own seed spray onto the forest floor, his body convulsing with a mix of pain and primal ecstasy, every nerve alight with the brutal claiming.

The younger gnoll collapses, panting, marked and claimed, his own release splattering the earth below. Korrak pulls out, his cock glistening with cum and musk, leaving Varkis trembling in the dirt.

The tribe’s drums begin to pound in the distance, signaling the rite’s completion. Varkis, battered but unbroken, has earned his place.

Borrowed, Never Returned - [Patreon Exclusive]

Mornings in the apartment stayed quiet. The air carried the soft hum of the city and the steady rhythm of the ceiling fan overhead. That quiet gave Alex room to move, to breathe, to do what stirred deep in his gut. He’d step into his roommate’s room, muscles tight, pupils wide, drawn forward by the scent that lingered in the air.

A pair of briefs lay on the edge of the laundry basket. Still warm with memory. Alex picked them up slowly, holding the waistband like something sacred. His fingers trembled as he pressed the fabric to his nose and inhaled. The smell: sweat, warmth, something raw and real flooded him. It curled in his chest and sparked something low in his belly.

Alex shifted, letting his legs spread wider, sneakers planted firm against the floor. His free hand slid across his belly, fingers grazing the line of fur down to his waistband. The soft stretch of the jock clung to him, pushing his cock up and out, swollen and leaking against the cool air. Every slow breath into the briefs made his heart beat louder in his ears.

His grip shifted lower, fingers wrapping around the thick weight of his shaft. It pulsed in his palm, slick at the tip, aching for attention. He moved slow at first, stroking himself with measured rhythm, every motion fueled by the scent still clinging to the briefs against his face. His breath grew ragged. Muscles tensed across his chest and thighs as his hand sped up, hips giving into the motion, chasing the heat curling deeper in his core. The pressure built fast, his moans quiet but constant, the wet sound of his strokes echoing in the still air around him. He didn’t hold back, he wanted to feel every second of it, every throb, every twitch, until he unraveled completely in the smell of someone he couldn’t stop wanting.

The tension in his gut was about to snap when the door creaked open.

Alex froze, heart stalling mid-beat. The scent-drenched briefs still pressed to his nose, hand still wrapped around his cock, his body flushed and exposed in the early light.

“Really, dude?” his roommate said, leaning against the frame with a raised brow. His voice was more amused than angry, laced with a kind of exasperated fondness. “Again?”

Alex’s ears shot up. He scrambled for words, but they tumbled in his throat. His roommate crossed his arms, biting back a grin. “That’s like... three times this week, bro. I should start charging rent for those.”

Face burning, Alex slowly lowered the briefs from his muzzle, his other hand slipping away from the scene of the crime. “I—I was just—”

“Sniffing my jock and pounding it like a feral? Yeah, I noticed,” the roommate said, chuckling. “At least close the door next time.”

Alex looked up, half mortified, half desperate to laugh. His roommate didn’t budge, still standing there like he’d caught someone raiding the fridge at midnight.

There was a pause, his roommate eyeing the scene with a lopsided grin, then rubbing the back of his neck. “You done, or... you want some help finishing up?” His voice dropped just enough to leave no doubt. “I mean, since you’re already working with my gear, seems only fair I get in on the fun.”

Alex blinked, mouth parting slightly, blood rushing to his cheeks... and somewhere else entirely. The briefs slipped from his fingers. His roommate stepped inside, shutting the door behind him with a soft click.

Sab

Sab lives on the fifth floor of a run-down apartment building with creaky elevators and a rooftop view that somehow makes it all worth it. The metro rumbles past his window every morning, the smell of street food drifts in by noon, and by sunset, the skyline glows like it’s putting on a show just for him. And Sab? He wouldn’t trade it for anything.

He works odd hours at a courier gig, nothing fancy, just enough to pay rent, buy groceries, and keep his running shoes in decent shape.

When he jogs through the park at dusk, headphones in, eyes half-lidded from the weight of the day, he turns heads without meaning to. An old oversized band t-shirt clinging to his chest, shorts riding just a bit too high, body moving with a relaxed rhythm that says he belongs to this city.

He’s always surprised when people flirt with him. Catches compliments like they’re raindrops: awkward, sweet, disbelieving. “Huh? Oh - thanks,” he’ll mumble, tugging his shirt down, cheeks burning beneath that thick fur. He doesn't see the appeal. He just thinks he’s another guy trying to make it through the week with clean laundry and a decent sunset run.

But the truth is: the city watches him. And while he’s busy humming to whatever song’s in his ears, some lucky stranger is probably watching him disappear into the golden glow of the evening, heart racing, and wishing they were the one waiting for him back at that rooftop view.

Cock (hah!) - [Patreon Exclusve]

This morning, the scent of mischief rode the breeze. A weasel, lean and twitchy, had dared to sneak into the henhouse, his paws already too close to feathers that didn’t belong to him. But before the intruder could vanish, Sebastian was on him, pinning him with a strong claw, chest heaving with righteous fury.

“You’ve got some nerve,” the rooster growled, his deep voice a growl in the straw-dusted air.

The weasel squirmed beneath him, trembling. But Sebastian only smirked. “You want to play dirty? Then you better know how to serve.”

With a commanding grip, Sebastian guided the weasel’s paw downward, forcing him to wrap his slender fingers around the firm length rising beneath the rooster’s fluff. “Stroke it,” he hissed, “slow and tight. Make yourself useful before I decide to crow louder than the farmer’s gun.”

Breeder's Routine - [Patreon Exclusive]

He’s already waiting for me, perched on that reinforced crate like a throne: broad, statuesque, every inch of him radiating raw heat and animal strength.

My stallion knows the routine. So do I.

He watches me with that heavy-lidded gaze, calm but coiled, his shaft already half-hard against his thigh, slick and twitching with anticipation. There’s no need for words. I strip off my coat and walk straight to him, my hands trailing over his thick chest, my breath catching as I climb into his lap, straddling that monstrous heat.

The moment I line myself up and start to sink down, it’s like splitting open on something forged to ruin me. That blunt, slick crown stretches me wide, forcing me to gasp, to bite down a moan as my body gives way inch by aching inch. He’s thick, obscenely so, and the deeper I take him, the more it burns, delicious and filthy. My thighs tremble as I settle all the way down, bottoming out on that heavy, pulsing length buried inside me. I feel every twitch, every heartbeat through him, seated deep in my gut like he owns it. Like I’m nothing but a tight, needy sleeve wrapped around his cock. And gods, I want it, crave it, clenching down hard just to make him groan like an animal under me.

I move like I’ve done it a thousand times - because I have. Up and down, slow at first, then faster, harder, chasing that perfect friction. The crate creaks beneath us, the stall filled with the slap of precum-soaked fur and the scent of sweat and lust. He growls when I squeeze down, riding him deep and desperate, milking every throb.

A deep snort burst from his throat as his whole body jerks beneath me. I feel the first pulse throb inside, thick and molten, and then he’s flooding me. Rope after rope of hot, heavy seed pumps deep into my guts, so much it makes me shudder, my belly cramping around the sheer force of it. I moan, helpless, as I feel it spill out around the base, leaking down my thighs in sticky trails, my insides so full I swear I can feel every twitch of his cock still pulsing inside me. He doesn’t stop until I’m ruined - used - and exactly how he wants me: dripping, wrecked, and claimed from the inside out.

Jeremy

Jeremy held the screen door open with a lazy sweep of his paw, smirking as he watched you step inside. The farmhouse was cozy and rustic, filled with worn wood, the scent of fresh bread, and soft golden light spilling through gingham curtains. It felt lived-in, warm: just like him.

He followed you in, his tail swaying behind him, those heavy footfalls echoing on the old floorboards. “Careful where you step,” he teased. “This place might look harmless, but it’s seen its fair share of… fun trouble.”

Jer brushed past you just enough to let his muscles graze your shoulder, an accident that wasn’t accidental at all. He grabbed another beer from the fridge, popped the cap, and handed it to you with a wink. “Hydration’s important. I read that somewhere. Or maybe I just wanted to see your lips on my bottle.”

With a laugh, he leaned back against the counter, arms folded over his chest, watching you with eyes that sparkled with more than sunset. “So tell me,” he said, tilting his head slightly, “did you come by to talk about crop rotation… or were you hopin’ for a more hands-on demonstration?”

The way he said it was smooth, light, like a tease, but you could feel the pull in his voice. He stepped closer again, this time slow, deliberate, the scent of him thicker in the small space between you. His paw reached up and casually adjusted your collar, fingertips lingering.

“Now don’t go gettin’ all shy on me,” he murmured, leaning just close enough for his breath to tickle. “You know I’m all bark unless you ask me to be bite.”

He gave a playful nip at the air near your ear, then chuckled, low and rich.

(Totally-not-inspired-by-my-love-for-Clarkson's-Farm)

Rico

Rico was more than just a personal trainer. At Skyline Pulse Gym, perched high above the city, he was a spectacle an erotic motivator in feathers and sweat. His sessions were notorious, booked solid weeks in advance, and not for his credentials.

No, it was the way he trained you.

Today, the gym was quiet, sun filtering through the floor-to-ceiling glass, Rico already glistening from the previous's customer workout. He turned slowly, hips angled back, tail feathers raised just enough to tease. The jockstrap around his thick thighs clung tight to sweat-slicked muscle, barely containing the bounce of his bulge.

He glanced over his shoulder, eyes sharp, playful, and dripping with intent. “C’mon,” he said, voice like warm oil sliding over your skin, “one more rep for me.”

The session had already blurred the line between discipline and desire. Rico had leaned in close to adjust your posture earlier, his chest brushing your back, breath hot near your ear. His fingers lingered just long enough on your hips. It wasn’t part of any official program, but you weren’t complaining.

He thrived on the tension, the heavy air thick with sweat and something else. His teasing wasn’t accidental, it was his language. And you were more than fluent by now.

“Focus on the form,” he said, smirking as he lowered into another squat, his perfect ass front and center. The view was sinful: designed to break your will, and your focus.
Rico knew what he was doing. He always did.

And when your set was finally done, heart pounding, legs shaking, he winked.
“Same time tomorrow,” he said, voice husky, “unless you need... extra attention sooner.”

Neigh - [Patreon Exclusive]

Morning came early on the farm, as it always did. The sun was just starting to rise, spilling pale gold through the cracks in the old barn walls. I pushed the heavy door open with a groan, boots crunching softly on the hay-strewn floor. The animals were quiet still, save for the soft snorts and shifting hooves of my prize stallion, Rovan.

I made my way down the row, the cool air biting against my skin, until I reached his stall. And there he was, stretched out in the hay like a king in his bed. His powerful, sculpted body gleamed with a faint sheen, the early light catching every contour of his muscles.

But it wasn’t just his physique that stole my breath. Between his strong thighs, his shaft lay fully unsheathed, throbbing with the kind of raw, masculine energy that seemed to pulse through the air itself. The heady scent of his arousal filled the stall, thick and undeniable, stirring something deep in me that I dared not name.

He looked at me then, eyes half-lidded, a knowing smirk playing across his muzzle. He knew exactly what kind of effect he had. I swallowed hard, pulse racing, my morning chores forgotten. The sun was rising, sure... but it seemed the day’s work would start here first.

The Pact - [Patreon Exclusive]

Buried beneath the marble corridors of the Arcanum Obscura, an elite haven for magical prodigies, lies a place too old and silent for daylight to remember. There, in the damp, stone-blooded dungeon where torches spit low firelight, a lone figure stands in a ring of glowing glyphs, the shimmer of his blue scales catching each flicker like polished gems under moonlight.

Kaelen, a dragonborn warlock cloaked in divine pact and shadow, exhales slow and heavy. His patron, a storm god who speaks in thunder and watches through lightning, had gifted him power, but demanded more than chants and rituals. Tonight was an offering of flesh, a communion of magic and craving.

The ritual sigils flare, pulsing in time with the thrumming heat rising from his skin. Then, from thin air, they form: two glowing hands of pure arcane force, semi-transparent, but undeniable in presence. One hovers, the other moves, tracing the line of his spine. Kaelen’s tail twitches. His robes fall from his shoulders like spilled oil, pooling at his feet.

He inhales sharply. The god is here. Watching. Waiting.

The hands are not gentle. One slides between his cheeks with purpose, parting them wide to reveal the tight ring of muscle beneath. A single glowing finger presses in, slow, thick, pulsing with heat. It doesn’t hesitate. The entry is smooth, but relentless, stretching him open inch by inch with a wet, magical slickness that burns and satisfies in equal measure. His breath hitches as the pressure deepens, the digit curling slightly, stroking that aching spot inside him that makes his knees tremble.

At the same time, the second hand grabs his cock: firm, greedy. It wraps around him with practiced strength and strokes hard, fast, with precision that leaves no inch untouched. His shaft pulses under the grip, veins straining as pleasure hits him from both ends: deep and invasive below, sharp and rhythmic above. The friction is exquisite: his hole stretching wider as the finger begins to thrust, slow and heavy, while his cock is worked with merciless consistency.

Kaelen groans, the sound ragged and guttural. His hips jerk forward, helpless against the pace set by invisible hands. Magic crackles around him, inside him, the pressure building like a summer storm before the sky breaks. Each touch draws him closer - closer to the edge, closer to his god - until all that remains is the rising, unstoppable rush toward release.

Ras

You ever meet someone who walks into a room and owns it without saying a word?

Yeah, that’s Ras.

We’ve been friends since back when he was just another cocky bastard with too much energy and not enough patience - before the city learned his name and started whispering it like a warning or a promise, depending on who you ask. He’s a raptor, sure, but that’s not what gets people. It’s how he moves. Like a coiled spring in designer jeans, muscles always flexed just enough to make someone bite their lip. Tail always twitching. Eyes sharp and golden, constantly sizing people up - half for fun, half because he likes reminding folks what he is.

He lives in a slick high-rise now, all glass and cold steel. Says watching the city crawl beneath him helps him relax. Not that Ras ever really relaxes. He’s got this restless energy, like if he stays still too long, he might explode. It’s probably why he works the door at The Rift. That club's chaos on a good night, but Ras thrives in it. He doesn't just bounce troublemakers: he draws them in, flirts with danger just to see who breaks first. And when it comes to flirting, don’t get me started. He’ll lean on the bar, smirk like he’s got a secret, and say something that walks the line between dirty and dangerous. Nine times out of ten, it works.

He’s got a short fuse, though. Real short. I’ve seen him go from a smirk to snarling in seconds. But weirdly? People like it. Some of them crave it. It’s that whole “dangerous but hot” thing, and Ras? He knows it. Plays it.

But under all that cocky, short-tempered bravado? There’s a guy who’s loyal to the bone. He’d rip someone apart for me if I needed it. Probably wouldn’t even ask why until afterward.

So yeah, Ras is trouble. Hot, wild, unpredictable trouble.

And gods help you if he decides you’re interesting.

BEG - [Patreon Exclusive]

(DEEP Part 2)

DEEP

David slunk through the crowd, his lithe frame draped in nothing but a pair of skintight leather shorts that hugged his hips and left little to the imagination. His russet fur gleamed under the faint glow, tail swaying with a deliberate, teasing flick. His amber eyes, sharp and hungry, scanned the room, lips curled into a smirk. He was no stranger to these nights, his reputation as a shameless slut preceded him, whispered in the eager growls of those who’d tasted his talents. Tonight, he craved something big, something rough, something that’d leave him wrecked and panting.

That’s when he saw Rune. The hunky beast loomed in the corner, a mountain of muscle and fur, his silver-gray pelt rippling over a chiseled frame. Rune’s piercing blue eyes locked onto David from across the room, a predator sizing up his prey. His black tank top strained against his broad chest, and the bulge in his jeans was impossible to miss - a promise of ruin. David’s heart raced, his mouth watering at the sight. Oh, this was gonna be messy.

David sauntered over, hips swaying, tail brushing against the wolf’s thigh as he closed the distance. “Well, well,” David purred, voice dripping with sin, “you look like you could break me in half, big guy.” He licked his lips, letting his gaze linger on the wolf’s crotch.

Rune’s lips twitched into a smirk, his deep growl vibrating through the air. “Careful, fox. I don’t play gentle.” His massive paw reached out, grabbing David’s chin, tilting his head up to meet those icy eyes. The fox’s pulse spiked, heat pooling in his core.

“Good,” David whispered, leaning into the grip, his tongue darting out to flick across Rune’s thumb. “I like it rough.”

Without another word, Rune’s paw slid to the back of David’s head, fingers tangling in his fur as he guided the fox down to his knees. The concrete was cold and gritty against David’s skin, but he didn’t care—his focus was on the wolf’s jeans, the zipper practically begging to be undone. David’s nimble fingers made quick work of it, tugging the fabric down to reveal Rune’s thick, throbbing cock, already glistening at the tip. The sight made David’s mouth water, a low whine escaping his throat.

“Fuck,” David breathed, his voice thick with need. He didn’t wait for permission - David never did. He leaned forward, lips parting wide as he took the wolf’s length into his mouth, tongue swirling around the head, savoring the salty tang. Rune groaned, his grip tightening in David’s fur, urging him deeper.

David was a pro, his throat relaxing as he pushed himself down, taking Rune inch by inch until his nose pressed against the wolf’s coarse fur. The stretch burned, his jaw aching, but the fox reveled in it, his eyes watering as he gagged softly. Drool spilled from the corners of his mouth, dripping onto the floor, mixing with the grime of the darkroom. It was messy, sloppy, perfect. David’s tail thumped against the ground, his own arousal straining against his shorts as he worked the wolf’s cock with desperate, hungry sucks.

Rune’s growls grew louder, hips bucking as he took control, thrusting into David’s throat with a force that made the fox’s head spin. “That’s it, slut,” Rune snarled, his voice raw. “Choke on it.” David moaned around him, the vibrations sending shudders through the wolf’s frame. Spit and pre-cum coated David’s chin, matting his fur, but he didn’t care: he was lost in the rhythm, the taste, the sheer filth of it all.

The room seemed to fade away, the world narrowing to the wolf’s cock filling his throat, the burn of each thrust, the slick sounds of his own gagging. David’s claws dug into Rune’s thighs, urging him on, begging for more. His vision blurred, tears streaming down his cheeks as Rune fucked his mouth with relentless intensity. The fox’s own cock throbbed, untouched, leaking through the leather as he teetered on the edge of bliss.

With a final, guttural roar, Rune came, hot and thick, flooding David’s throat. The fox swallowed eagerly, though some spilled past his lips, dripping down his chest in sticky rivulets. He pulled back, gasping for air, his face a wreck of spit, cum, and smeared fur. Rune looked down at him, panting, a satisfied grin on his muzzle. “Good boy,” he rumbled, thumbing a streak of mess from David’s cheek.

David grinned, voice hoarse but smug. “Told ya I could handle it.” He licked his lips, already craving more, his amber eyes glinting with insatiable hunger.

In the darkroom, the night was far from over.