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16. Noah1237 - Sheathplay

"Go left. No, no, left, dingbat. I said that there - ah - ah..."

Lukas glanced up from where he half-knelt, half-sprawled along the floor, his pants and underwear draped around his knees, one paw down to keep himself propped up while the other idly pumped in his lap. He swallowed, then did so again, then did so again, and watched as the fox-jay above him shifted in his desk chair, spread his legs a little wider, and then pushed himself forward - and wiped his plump, wet sheath right across the otter's cheek, smearing the short fur down with thick, sticky warmth.

"Go left," the vulpine said into his headset again, once more leaning forward over his desk. From down here Lukas's ears tickled with the rapid-fire taps of his keyboard and mouse as he dove back into his game, Steel's split attention allowing him to remain only _partially_aroused while the otter worked. Lukas finally cleared his throat of the slick stickiness, swirled his tongue around his lips, smelled nothing from rich, heady fox sheath, and pulled himself forward to follow the other male's direction.

Left... and he lifted his nose along the underside of Steel's slightly revealed tip, pushing forward enough so that the supple, sleek folds of skin slid back across themselves, wrinkling up into a thicker mound. The otter freely inhaled through his nose nestled there, drawing in thick, humid air tainted with the scent of a sheath a few days unwashed, the firm flesh inside glistening with gathered wetness across that period: Steel had known that Lukas would be coming over this weekend, and as such had 'prepared' appropriately for the otter's interest.

Still digging in, paw pausing in its rhythm at his own twitching arousal, Lukas tilted his head and continued along within the rim of Steel's sheath, eyes fluttering shut again when the sleek skin curled forward and tugged around him. Lips pressed against the root of the fox's sheath, he flicked his tongue out, curled it down to dance across the similarly loose, soft skin of his sack as well, sucking it up between his lips, soaking saliva through his fur, then releasing again.

"Oh, gosh..." the fox-jay muttered, then twitched. "Ah - sorry, sorry. That was my bad. I wasn't - uh, paying... attention..." And a paw reached down from above the desk, patting around, finding Lukas's head, and then guiding the otter slightly to the side and in. Like another pair of pursed lips, Steel's sheath wrinkled up against Lukas's mouth and then peeled in against him, slippery-slick inner walls of skin smearing easily across his already wet lips.

A shiver coursed down through Lukas's shoulder and back. Pulling in another breath, this time through his parted lips instead of his dripping, sticky nose, he moved both paws to the edge of Steel's chair to pull himself up and forward, then just as quickly centered his attention to the fox-jay's sheath as well. Delightfully supple, surprisingly malleable, Lukas found - or rather already knew, from prior visits - that he could pull and tug at the loose yet elastic skin to draw it further up around his mouth, the tapered, soft-firm point of his shaft inside resting across his tongue.

Salty, savory, a little bit heady and heavy, with that distinct touch of deep weight halfway between ammonia and rust that informed Lukas more than anything that Steel had indeed held off on washing, all flooded into his mouth as the otter dug his tongue into the warm, soft depths and swirled around, and around. He pinched his forefinger and thumb around the end of Steel's sheath where he had pulled it over his lips, and now when he opened his eyes and looked down he could see the smooth bulge of his tongue lifting out from underneath the layers of skin, shifting and deforming like soft, hot rubber around him. Again and again the fox-jay shifted, gasped, spread his legs further, pushed himself closer to the edge of the chair - Lukas now brought his other paw in as well to caress his similarly impressive sack, balls hanging down loose under such fervent attention.

Steel suddenly shifted again and pulled back a little bit. The suction of his sheath across Lukas's lips pulled, tugged, then popped gently, soft skin sliding back to its natural drape and position around his tip protruding an inch and a half out. Lukas pressed his lips together, rubbed them back and forth, curled the upper towards his nose, and took in another slow, indulgent breath, tasting the depth of musk and juice that had been left there.

"Okay - okay," the fox-jay said, once more into his mic. "I'm back up. ...What? No, shut the fuck up, I swear I'm just-"

Lukas shifted how he sat, one paw going back to his own shaft, the other coming up and forward. This time he bunched Steel's sheath in against itself and drew it forward, wrinkled pucker of stretchy skin folding in over itself, pressing around the vulpine's tip, hiding it back underneath layers of wet warmth, musk and pre and drool and whatever else had gathered since his last shower. Small flecks of that same grease had spread out across the dank, matted fur, creamy white streaked with sweat and natural scent once dried, now liquefying again under the otter's vigorous attention. He swallowed again, pressed his lips against the puckered central folds of slick, supple sheath skin, then spread his mouth around, sucked Steel's sheath in, and swirled his tongue across all of those wrinkles.

One of the fox-jay's footpaws kicked gently, nudging against Lukas's thigh. The otter smirked and dove in deeper, wedging his tongue into those overlapping folds, digging around, squeezing out the luscious, wet warmth from inside, sucking it down, filling his belly and lungs with Steel's scent and taste. Every time he came forward and slurped deeper, the otter also squeezed at the other male's sheath to bunch it up against his maw, supple skin pulling forward from the base, lifting his balls briefly against his chin and then settling back down. Up above Steel gasped, shivered, and twitched again, then sat back.

This time when he lowered his paw, it was to gently nudge Lukas away from him - and then slip one, two, three fingers into his spit-soaked sheath. Lukas watched the ease with which Steel swirled them around; when he drew them back out a thin rope of glistening slickness pulled with them, hung beneath its own weight, then snapped across the edge of the chair.

"Yeah," Steel said, paused, then nodded. "Yeah. Good game. Y'all take the next one without me, I-" Brown eyes flicked down to the otter between his legs. "I gotta piss. Yes, the whole time..."

He tugged his headset off. Lukas grinned, wrapped his arms around the fox-jay's legs, and leaned back in.

17. Kefl - Sheathplay

Kieran shivered where he sat along the couch, deliberately holding his arms over the back to resist the urge to reach forward and down and - then he winced at a pinch between his legs, the fold of his pants zipper pushing back against his lower belly and catching some of the fur there.

"Ah," said the hyena kneeling before him. "Sorry. I'm a little - drunk, y'know."

They all were. That was part of the party, and the main reason everyone had so vocally agreed to the idea of playing truth or dare... and why, naturally, everyone so far had confidently gone for dare. This last round had almost come to the were-hyena himself, only for it to land on this hyena who know knelt between his legs, both paws working at the other male's pants fly, muzzle close enough that he could feel the heat of his boozy breath even through the fabric.

"I dare you to..." the wolfess had said, long fingers tapping her chin as she thought. Bright eyes settled on the hyena then, and her mouth quirked in a smirk. "Whip it out for all of us. Not your dick. Kieran's."

Surprise and embarrassment had flooded through the poor boy, wrapping back into nervousness when literally every eye in the room went first to his muzzle, and then down to his pants. Now he sat back here, legs spread, tail flicking, and - as this hyena was about to find out, finally managing to pop the button free - more than a little bit worked up.

"Ah," he said, straightening up between Kieran's legs, "here we go... can you - lift up a bit? I'm gonna..."

Kieran took in a breath and held it. There was the faint sensation of the zipper being pulled down as well, then the pressure of the other male's paws hooking around the waistband. He swallowed, pressed his arms against the couch, lifted his lower body up... and then blushed even deeper at the touch of the room's air wafting down across his suddenly revealed abdomen, fingers of cool air curling in across his sheath, around the base of his sack, down underneath, in between.

The room went silent. Slowly he opened his eyes again and once more saw everyone staring at him, mouths open, heads leaning in from around corners to take a look... and still he felt himself continuing to slowly grow, the thick, dense yet soft meat of his equine shaft pushing free from the leathery folds of his sheath. The hyena between his legs blinked, glanced up at him, glanced back down, and blinked again; then his nostrils flared as he drew in a slow, steady breath.

Maybe it was the alcohol, but Kieran thought - worried - that he could actually see the steam of rich musk curling up from off of him as the attention aroused him further. The dare had only been to get him out in the open like this, but as the seconds dragged on he became steadily more aware that the other hyena still remained on the floor in front of him.

Then, quietly, warm breath tickling out across his balls and making them draw up towards him: "Oh my God..."

Across the room the wolfess lifted her drink. "You wanna shove your muzzle in that, don't you, Shekh?"

He glanced across his shoulder at him. "Of course I fuckin' do."

"Go for it." She took another sip. "You'll get to skip your next turn."

"Shit, I don't fuckin care, I'm just... gonna..."

Kieran opened his mouth to say something - and then let out a sweet, shuddering sigh instead, as Shekh scooped both of his paws underneath the were-hyena's hefty sack, hoisted his balls up against his chin, and then ran his nose up along the supple overlapping wrinkles of his sheath bunched up at the base of his shaft, then nuzzled his way in. Thick folds already wet with the natural liquid musk of the day slurped and slopped around him, smearing his fur back across his snout.

Shekh's mane puffed beneath his shirt the further he dug, pressing himself in until Kieran felt his nose push in against the depths of his sheath, half-hard shaft straining and growing against the side of the smaller hyena's muzzle. Every time Shekh inhaled Kieran felt the luscious, swampy-wet wrinkles of the inner skin there suction in against his nostrils, and when he breathed back out it was like - like someone had stuck a straw into a bowl of pudding and blew out from there, hot breath puttering out amid thick, sticky moisture.

Between the attention of the audience and the actual touch here inside his sheath, there was little Kieran could do but continue to watch and feel, enjoying from a distance: he hadn't expected this and couldn't believe it was happening, but still his body responded in turn as Shekh scooped his tongue out in among the depths of his sheath, now deliberately sucking to draw all of this gathered musk and pre free from the velvet-leathery folds. The sensation made his footpaws kick and caused him to clench and throb again and again, until the other hyena shifted with the weight of a fully hard horse's shaft resting over his shoulder.

Shekh nuzzled down towards the underside of Kieran's shaft, drew briefly back to catch his breath - thick strands of sticky wetness spread between his lips and the were-hyena's sheath as he did so - then lifted up underneath with his tongue and lips first, still sucking, slurping, swallowing. One paw remained underneath Kieran's balls, thumb pressing into the soft, sensitive skin in between and tugging down to spread his sheath further, while the other had reached up and over his shoulder to caress the underside of his blunted head, pre-slickened fingers poking, squeezing, brushing right along and behind the rim. Kieran tightened up, fingers gripping the back of the couch; every time Shekh dragged his tongue through thick folds of skin he couldn't help but grind forward and throb again, and as those fingers played across his head he felt himself starting to twitch and clench in turn, electric energy building up from within.

Perhaps it was the alcohol in his system, or the crowd still watching, or the fact that half of those faces showed sheer shock as well as interest, but before long the were-hyena gasped, then gasped again, then bucked forward, unable to control himself. Shekh's eyes fluttered open and the smaller hyena looked up at him, then pressed his muzzle even deeper into his sheath, thick wrinkles slopping up across his snout - and Kieran clenched his jaw so hard he felt it pop once the first wave of pleasure crashed into him.

Into him, and rocketing out across the other hyena's shoulder with enough force that the spurt made an audible slap when it hit the ground. Then a second, and a third, and a fourth, and a fifth, each one forcing him to nearly double over in immense, startled, embarrassed_pleasure, eyes dancing frantically across everyone else watching, surprise to shock to perhaps a little distaste at how _much there was. Shekh arched his back with the last dribbles oozing out across him, then finally managed to slurp his face free from Kieran's sheath - and had to wipe at his mouth with both paws to clear the sticky strands free.

"Sorry," he panted, a little bit breathless. No matter where he looked, the embarrassment just continued to grow. "Sorry, I-"

"There," Shekh interrupted him. Kieran's nose twitched: even from here, sitting up on the couch, he could smell his own musk on the other hyena's breath. "My part's done. It's your go, I think? Although you're probably gonna need, what-" And he leaned out from underneath Kieran's still fully hard shaft. It flopped down towards the ground, heavy enough that he felt the tug in the root of his abdomen. "Ten, twenty minutes before you can fit this fuckin' thing back in those pants of yours? And I'm gonna need a new shirt..."

18. Dotcom656 - Foreskin

"See? Look at that. Told you."

Kit nodded and swallowed, eyes held rather forcefully in place; he couldn't look away even if he had wanted to, and he was _far_from that. All of this chat and discussion over the past few weeks, strung through with teasing of growing intensity, finally leading to Shekh showing up now, getting him in this position, and then stripping himself naked to straddle the tiger's chest. Humid heat simmered down through Kit's fur, keeping him sharply aware of Shekh's sack resting across his him; he swallowed again, tilted his head, and looked over the dense yet loose wrinkles curling over one another there, the shapes of his balls shifting slowly within their confinement in the changing heat of the room and the body underneath him; then on top of that, resting out at a slight angle - the hyena leaned a bit to the left, it looked like - was his half-hard shaft, forward across his sack, head similarly resting against Kit's chest.

With another good two inches, at least, of wrinkled, supple foreskin hanging over the end, draped loose and limp over itself ahead of where his head nestled against the tiger's chest.

"Uh," Kit replied, "yeah. Don't have to tell _me_twice..."

The hyena grinned. "Longest y'ever seen, right?" He shifted himself, leaned back, pushed his hips forward - the movement caused the underside of this overhang to curl back, just slightly - then reached down to hoist his cock up into the air, pinching at the skin with a forefinger and thumb. Those wrinkles stretched and smoothed out in response to the weight hanging down underneath, and in another movement he slid his paw down and then back up, curling and wrinkling the musk-damp surfaces into a lumpy, wrinkly mass in between his fingers. "Distracts me sometimes. Gets caught between my belly and my pants when I'm out at the store or something, and I can feel it tugging and pulling every time I take a step. Or I go to piss and finish up, only to late figure out I've got some whole-ass dribbles caught down in there... you know how it is."

He didn't, in fact. Shekh scooted back a little bit further, then further still, until he slid back in between Kit's spread legs - and rested his floppy, sloppy overhang right down across the slick black flesh of the tiger's plump canine sex, his succulent spade swollen with arousal. The worst that Kit got was surprise dampness seeping through his underwear or, worse, pressing a wet stamp in the precise shape of his spade through his pants. He shivered at a slight tickle from the hyena's paw along his sensitive flesh, lifted himself up a bit to look closer... and then couldn't help but grind upwards as Shekh tapped his half-hard length down against the point of his sex, firmer shaft and head bumping against him first, loose overhang smacking a moment later like a slightly wet, limp tongue.

"Now if I could... just..."

Back and forth Shekh worked himself, running his shaft around the base of Kit's spade, slipping it along the folds of flesh and warmth, smearing his own slick skin back and forth. His hips gently thrust as he did so, foreskin remaining in place where he held it while his steadily stiffening shaft shifted inside, filling the skin around it and then sliding smoothly back again; it was intoxicating to watch, inviting, enticing, and a _little_bit grotesque.

But then, so was everything about sex. Kit licked his lips, entranced; with one thumb along the back Shekh pressed himself down against the feline's spade, smearing himself in Kit's slickness, working both of them up further. Kit lifted up against him again, wanting him inside of him, wanting to feel all of those wrinkles spreading against his inner walls and slurping back and forth - but Shekh instead lifted up and, now fully hard, let himself hang there in the air for a moment.

And still his puckered overhang drooped a good half-inch or so away from the end of his head, glistening with wetness both his own and Kit's. Panting softly the hyena grinned down at him, pinched the overlapping skin and tugged again, and then finally slid his paw to roll it back. Slowly, gradually along his shaft, starting at the rim of his head and pushing back from there; then further still; and further, until his paw pressed into his pubic fur... and then he had to do so again, starting from the rim of his head and going back, and only then did the thick wrinkles curl back to show the luscious pink of his bared head underneath.

It took two full strokes, tip to base, to fully retract everything he had there - and even so as he lifted his paws away, one going to his muzzle to take a whiff of his scent mixed with Kit's, the sheer amount of overlapping folds pushed the rim of his foreskin forward over the back of his head again, encroaching slowly. Seeing it made Kit shiver again; he so, so_wanted to bring Shekh back up across his chest, to have the hyena slop and slap that loose skin across his nose, for him to smear it over his fur so that it left stains. He wanted to see how far back along his tongue he could pull the wrinkly flesh and even wondered - _I bet when he's fully soft, seeing how much he has, that I could literally swallow some of it...

But Shekh had another idea. The hyena lifted up and back, rolled his skin forward again, then with a thumb pressed himself down in between the supple, succulent folds of Kit's spade. The firmness of his head pressed in first, with the loose lip of his overhang flopping down a moment later - and then he sank steadily inwards, sweet and slow. One of Kit's legs shook with pleasure: he couldn't quite feel the thick folds of loose skin shifting and pulling, but still imagined he could, and it was that idea that kept him squirming and gasping as the hyena settled into a rhythm. The faster Shekh went, the more Kit tightened around him, until at one point he thought he actually could feel the way his foreskin remained in place within his walls, with the hyena's hard cock thrusting in and out within both the wrapping of skin as well as the inner walls of the tiger's spade, like a sleeve within a sleeve.

One paw against his chest, one near his head, Shekh continued thrusting, and Kit squeezed up and around him, loving the way his spade squished against the hyena's loins, the slight suction pull of wet flesh on slick fur, the sloppy, noisy slurps and squelches of rich wet meat. Shekh's pace increased both in pace and intensity, and before long he had doubled fully over the tiger, fingers gripping into his fur, teeth gritted - and then he gasped, pulled back just slightly, jerked, jerked again, then bucked again... and slowly, carefully pulled back out of him. Kit squirmed again.

"Oh," the hyena rumbled, looking down. Kit lifted his head. "See? Told you we wouldn't need a condom. Barely any got into you. The rest-" And he flopped his still-hard shaft out against the tiger's belly, with the impact of it bouncing through his slightly-ballooned foreskin - and dumping out the thick ooze of most of his load, caught there within the extra volume. "-is all in here. That happens sometimes. Comes in handy when I want to..." He rolled all the way back again, two full strokes just like before. More slick wetness dribbled out. "...you know. Take care of myself, when I've got nowhere to hide the evidence. Plot twist: I always have somewhere."

With a wet slurp Shekh rolled all the way forward again, then tugged at the rim of his foreskin to pull it just that little bit further. He tapped it against the panting tiger's belly again. "So," he went on, "got a straw on hand? Wanna see if you can suck it out?"

19. Zulie - Feral

Zulie's head swam even though she was fairly certain the kobold kept it pressed sideways against the wall in front of her. Each time she closed her eyes the world around her spun slowly as though she were still on that damned boat from before, enough that she wobbled forward, then back, then to the side, and opened her eyes again - and briefly fought with the disorientation from again remembering that this was good, solid land. Just... _where,_though? She was fairly certain that a few moments ago she was in a tavern having the time of her life, drink after drink offered free to her from the other patrons, chatting and jeering and slapping her on the back. In fact, her skin and scales there stung; where was her shirt? Or, rather, where was _any_of her clothing?

Why was this wall against which she rested her head warm, soft... feathered? And what was this great, warm tube clutched in her small hands, soft on the outside yet with a distinct, twitching firmness deep within, slightly greasy to the touch, pulsing up apparently of its own accord... and this scent in her nose, high, rich, sharp, a little bit acrid, a little bit of ammonia, a lot of the grassy, earthy, hay-like aroma of livestock, but for some reason a little bit arousing.

Or - maybe a lot arousing. The kobold hiccupped, tasted alcohol on her own breath along with something else, and shivered deep down in her abdomen. A familiar fiery heat simmered there, and when she dropped a hand down away from this twitching, throbbing tube, she felt the gathered slickness of her arousal dribbling down her thighs, similarly bared in full nudity. The pieces starting to fall into place she blinked, blinked again, looked around, and saw the crowd of patrons from inside the tavern now outside, all watching her, most still with their tankards.

Zulie looked back to the wall again, wobbled under the shifting balance, took a half-step back, and released her other hand from whatever it was she held. The entire wall heaved and shifted, feathered surface swelling out and then flattening with what sounded for all the world like the cry of some eager eagle; a taloned hindleg lifted and padded at the ground, spreading dried hay away from the treated wood covered with dirt, dried droppings, and who knew what all else.

Not a tavern anymore, but the stables around back. She remembered... vaguely. Some noise behind her, something that might have been a voice, words in one ear and out the other, and then two pairs of paws_guided her arms forward again underneath this living, breathing wall, this wall that was not a wall, this solid, warm, _dense thing that could only have been a creature, livestock standing on four legs. As the paws brought her hands forward and across its underbelly, pushing along the line where feathers gave way to fur and fur to slick, greasy, leather sheath-skin retracted back at the base of its hefty, pulsing shaft, Zulie looked back again. For a moment her drunken mind couldn't quite fit the individual pieces together, from horse back here and underneath - her fingers brushed across large, heavy balls, and she vaguely recalled her nose getting pressed up in between those; perhaps that was the source of this thin sheen of oil she still felt there - and then one great wing briefly unfolding over her head, her stature naturally putting her at about eye level with...

With this one-eyed beast, she thought with a bubbly giggle. Once more she was guided to wrap her fingers around the hippogryph's fully hard shaft, her grip only encompassing about half its circumference, and then clumsily stroked forward and back, forward and back. Zulie liked the way the smooth, supple skin bunched and wrinkled up over itself, then spread back out. One-eyed... giant... frilled... spitting snake. Oh, that's good.

"Hey," she slurred, then smacked her lips, swallowed, swallowed again. Her mouth was dry. "Is - isn' it fun - funny tha'..."

The words were gone. Snickering behind her; the kobold wet her lips, or at least did as much as she could, and continued pumping away at the beast's cock, watching the way the greasy skin pushed against her fingers and folded back and forth, how the blunted head pulsed outward with its rhythmic throbs, how the little ridged nubs at the rim of its head began to flare outwards. Zulie knew that she had an audience, she _knew_that this was just some feral livestock that the tavern kept around for travelers, and she felt deep down a stirring, simmering embarrassment that she was being made to do this at all. It grated at her, tugged at her awareness and pushed the blush to her cheeks and ears, but still she just couldn't stop herself.

"Here-"

Then suddenly another pair of paws on her shoulders pushing her down, and she lacked the strength to resist. The sudden shift in perspective sent her vision reeling again, and by the time the world righted itself she blinked again face to face with the end of the hippogryph's cock, now being vigorously pumped by two more paws. Someone she thought she might have recognized bent over next to the beast as they performed the work, muzzle alight in an eager grin.

"Open her mouth," said the person working the hippogryph's sheath. That taloned hindleg lifted up and patted at the ground again, then once more: the lion's tail lifted, the body tensed, the underbelly tightened. "He's about to cum. Come on - get your fingers in there. She's too drunk to bite, she'll-"

"Nah'm nah, I-"

Then fingers went in, first one on either side, then a second, then a third stretching her jaws open. Zulie's tongue waggled in the open cavern that was her mouth: she blinked, tried swallowing, coughed a little bit, then looked forward just in time to see the head of the hippogryph's cock pulse, pulse again, throb, dribble - and then her mouth was full, the entire head shoved in so that it pushed against the back of her throat.

Then the beast whinnied, or made some kind of noise, and she felt the pressure squeeze out at her throat from inside. Like she had stood at the base of a waterfall, craned her head back, and stretched her mouth open, the force of its orgasm burst straight down and filled her belly, powerful enough that she didn't even have to swallow: she jerked, spluttered, coughed, weathered another burst forcing its way down, and then managed to wriggled free, the hippogryph's still-pulsing, still-spraying cock pulling free from her suddenly sore jaws, slapping against its belly and painting her, the ground, and the opposite wall of the stall in its thick load.

Zulie felt the feral's immense volume simmering in her belly, rolling and roiling, boiling, bubbling. The fingers pulled out of her mouth, whoever had stood behind her stepping away with a flustered curse; she burped, then did so again with a murky bubble growing along the roof of her mouth and then popping, refreshing the musky bite of feral seed on her breath.

"See?" said the one still holding the hippogryph's shaft, fully flared and now slowly retracting into its sheath, with further spurts of thick white across the floor underneath. "Told you. Few drinks in her and she's good for pleasuring any old beast."

"Yeah," said the voice behind. Something wiped against her back; Zulie lurched forward with the touch and glanced back in time to see them wiping their paw off on her. "And to think that before that last one she was just saying how she'd never suck off a horse. Well, little lizard, what about a_hippogryph_? Not only that - look, you can see how much he filled her..."

"There's a regular horse in the next stall," the first said again, with a nod of their head. "Wanna see if-"

"Wai-" Zulie managed, then burped again. "Full. I'm - full..."

"Take your time," they said with a grin. "You can stay there as long as you need."

20. Iridiumx - Feral

Iri swallowed and adjusted the fit of his shirt collar, unwilling to take his eyes away from their current point of focus just across the fence. First noticed from a distance, the dragon had spent the past few minutes making his way over here while at the same time trying to leave his absence from the party unnoticed. That much wouldn't be too hard, he figured, seeing how his presence had barely been noticed in the first place, anyway.

But here, though... he looked back over his shoulder again towards the direction of the gathering, ambition and interest swelling within his chest - as well as within his loins. The reason he had leaned over the fence like this was so he could at least have some kind of cover if someone followed him, but after two minutes that felt like two hours Iri decided that he was in the clear, and pressed the heel of his palm onto the upper surface so he could vault himself over.

Dried hay crunched beneath his feet when he landed. Already he bore the evidence of this visit to the barns across his nice outfit, dug out of his closet just for this nonsense occasion, this party full of people he didn't remember having conversations he couldn't force himself to care about. But when he glanced over from one of these situations with someone who acted like they knew him, he saw off in the distance the unmistakable lumpy, blob-like shapes of cows taking their time grazing through the fields on the rest of the ranch, only this little picturesque spot near the pond reserved for the gathering.

So Iri had simply slipped away. He strode up behind one of the beautiful beasts here, her pelt well-kept and glossy, her stall maintained and clean. Relatively speaking, of course: even from across the fence the dragon's nose had curled with the distinct, acrid weight of livestock and waste, and this aroma strengthened the closer he came. The cow lifted her head and looked over at him, quiet appraisal stirring beneath deep brown eyes as she chewed.

Her paintbrush tail flicked and swung, and Iri gladly took the opportunity to take a look at what she had for him. Nestled underneath the base of that tail, his fingerpads slid and streaked easily across the dense, greasy folds of her lengthy tailhole, miraculously scrubbed mostly clean of the natural processes of a livestock animal - mostly; when he brought his other hand up, thumb digging into the overlapping wrinkles of soft, warm, _moist_skin, he felt the familiar grit and tug and pull against himself, the gathered slimy stickiness, the distant clenching pull of her muscled rim.

One hand remained there, fingers bunching to a point and pressing in at the center of her tailhole, while the other continued down... and just as easily sank to the second knuckle within the luxurious, silky touch of her sex, wet-velvet walls slipping around him like a hungry mouth, smearing him in her scent, her warmth, her wetness. Once more the dragon glanced back over his shoulder, saw that he was still on his own with the party not even in his view, and then swallowed and looked back down towards where the cow she stood.

She certainly wanted something from him; that much was clear in the way she looked back at him, how she spread her legs at his touch, how she hiked her tail at the base, how all of these muscles shivered and trembled and twitched. Iri let his mouth fall open, drew her taste in along the humid air, and slopped his hand in deeper, until that wetness squeezed around his wrist and clenched. The thumb of his other hand easily sank in to the center of her pucker, kept thoroughly greased from her natural bodily processes. First she squeezed, then pushed back again: pursed wrinkles pressed up against his thumb and let it slip right back out of her, coated with the same heavy scent that floated around the dragon's senses.

Without thinking about it he peeled his hand away from her rump, brought it to his muzzle, and plunged that thumb between his lips, slurping off the sticky wet heat. A shiver coursed through his body: Iri slid his other hand out from inside of her as well, gave it a brief shake to work off the thickest of her sloppy juices, then swiftly, eagerly worked at undoing his pants fly, the fastenings unfamiliar in these nice dress pants. A moment later he leaned back within the barn stall and stroked her slickness across his hard cock, head leaned back, mouth hanging open - and cow standing still needy, still unattended in front of him.

So he looked around, and within seconds saw his new target: a classic milking pail kicked up near the other door. Holding his pants up with one hand Iri bustled over, hooked a foot around it, and scooted it over until it stood perfectly behind her. Caution lost to arousal, Iri stepped up, wobbled, righted himself, braced one hand against the beast's lovely angular haunch, wiped the slickness of her sex across himself a few more times, and then nudged right up underneath that tail. He had to wiggled himself this way and that and poke here and there before he could find the center of her tailhole amid the humid, slimy wrinkles of overlapping skin, but when he found it-

When he found it he arched his back, took in a breath, and then sank smoothly, easily in to the base, and just held himself there for a moment. The wet heat of her lower bowels simmered all around him, sucking him deeper even as he stood still - but not for long, with desire and need thrumming through him combined with the lingering dread and stress of the party. Down came his other hand to lift her tail, and then Iri drew back nearly to his tip, held there, looked down at himself to see the slightly discolored slime already coating his length, and then pressed himself back in, and again and again. He leaned forward over her as he thrust, burying himself in her presence, squeezing forward until the wrinkles of her rump stretched out and smeared against his lower belly, staining the fabric of his nice shirt. Having just come from the party a few minutes ago, Iri already knew that nobody would be able to hear the rhythmic, wet smacking of his hips on this cow's rump over the conversation and music.

So he didn't hold back in pounding away at her, his jaw hanging open, her body clenching and shivering around his own as she, too, felt the need, and indulged in the unexpected meeting. Iri knew he could probably get away with at least half an hour, and this wouldn't take him _that_long; there were plenty of other ways he could help her out, after all.

He swallowed again, sucked in another breath tinted heavily with the scent of well-groomed cow, and buried himself inside of her once again.