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"Matt?" Stetson opened the door to the basement and then winced. The lights were out. Had he turned them out before he left? He must have, unless they'd burned out. Even through the surgical mask covering his face, menthol-scented, the reek of his oversexed boyfriend hit him squarely in the face. The air was almost stifling in the basement as he fumbled for the light switch.

The light flickered on, but it was odd, dim. The rabbit frowned, reshifted the bags of food in his arms, and stepped down the stairs. "How is he?" came Saul's voice from behind him. Stetson stopped halfway down the stairs and stared agape at the room. The ceiling, the wall, the floor in front of Matt were all painted with a viscous white fluid. The light glowed a baleful yellow through the substance spattering it. It couldn't all be cum. It couldn't be. Stetson's eyes wandered to the left. A hulking figure hung slumped in the chains, apparently unconscious, knees buckled nearly to the floor. Before him jutted his erection, huge and thick, and, Stetson realized, finally rivaling his own. Perhaps just a bit smaller. It flexed from time to time as if trying to erupt, but there was no seed or even precum dripping from it anymore, and Stetson was not surprised. It was amazing there was as much spattered about the room as there was. There's was no way the otter's balls could hold anymore. His gaze flickered downward; sure enough, Matt's sac was pulled up tight between his thighs. The otter suddenly took a deep breath, looking up, lifting. He was massive. Not Mr. Olympia, but definitely a seasoned veteran of the gym. No one looked like that without taking steroids, Stetson suspected. No one.

Matt groaned. "Is it... is it morning yet? I'm so... so hungry. So... horny. Please, please, I need to fuck so badly."

Stetson shook his head. "No, you definitely do not. You need to eat and sleep. We brought you food. And a sedative. We'll help you sleep your way through this until the drug wears off, okay?"

A look of relief washed over the otter's face. "Thank you," he breathed. "This is too much. And I'm so tired."

Stetson stepped closer, his long ears picking up the sound of Saul coming down the stairs behind him. The closer the rabbit drew, the larger Matt seemed. Something was definitely off. "Are your wrists okay?" he asked.

Matt shook his head. "Chafed," he said. "Sore. They really hurt."

"Oh my god," Saul said. "This isn't possible." He came up beside Stetson, also wearing a surgical mask. "He's a monster."

Matt looked up, eyes opening wider despite his obvious fatigue.

"Don't exaggerate," Stetson said. "He's just a reasonably big guy now. Come on, get the keys, help me get him down."

The otter shook his head. "No," he mumbled. "Don't wanna.. wanna..."

"He has a point," the tabby said, stepping back. "I mean, look at him. If he gets loose, he could... he could do whatever he... on second thought, maybe we should let him go."

"Keep it together, Saul," the rabbit snapped, irritated. Saul hadn't always been the wisest of friends, but Stetson had always thought he was reliable, trustworthy. Tonight had proved differently, and the rabbit found himself very disappointed. "He's in no condition to do anything. Look, he's bone dry, see?" He waved his paw toward the erratically flexing cock. "And anyway, he's tired. Let's just get him down, give him the sedative, and let him sleep this off."

Saul nodded. "You're right, of course. I'm sorry, it's just..." He sighed. "Never mind." He walked toward the otter, paws splitching in the white puddles on the floor, leaving trailing strands behind his toes when he lifted them. "Good god, there's so much..."

Stetson could see him inhaling deeply, and was grateful once again for the menthol-scented masks. The cat pulled a small key out of his pocket and reached up to the manacle. "Er, better give me a hand with the beefcake, huh? He looks like he weighs well over two hundred by now."

Over two hundred? The rabbit found himself, for the first time ever, wondering if he'd be able to support the weight of his own boyfriend. He stepped across the floor, trying to avoid the puddles, which were already cool. He wondered how long Matt had been hanging there, exhausted. He stepped in front of the otter, careful to avoid the still erect (and presumably tender) shaft. "Here, hon," he murmured. "Lean on me." The large otter groaned and nodded, shifting forward, and pressing the weight of his thick chest against Stetson's upper back. There was a scraping sound as Saul unlocked the right manacle. Matt slumped forward, putting his arm around Stetson, who braced his broad paws on the slick floor, widening his stance to support the otter's weight. Another scrape, and he was free. "God, you're heavy," Stetson grunted. He could feel his thighs straining to keep his balance. He settled back, his ears pushing to the side as he nudged his head under Matt's chin. Odd. From this position, his boyfriend actually felt... taller. There was a conspicuous jut into the small of his back; Matt groaned, his hips giving a push up and forward.

"Ah-ah," Stetson admonished him. "Let's go, big guy. Come on, walk." Carefully, he led the otter over to the mattress in the corner of the room--fortunately, it was still quite dry, though a bit musty-smelling--and helped him lie down. The otter sighed in relief, huge chest swelling massively. Stetson felt himself gape under the raspy fabric of the surgical mask. "We figured you mainly need protein to support all that growth," he told Matt. "So we brought you tuna. Saul, could you go upstairs and get it ready."

"Yeah," the cat said. His voice was hushed, almost awed. "Okay. Back in just a few minutes. Don't do anything without me."

The otter's stomach gurgled, rounded abdominals rolling as he clenched it.

Stetson felt a pang of pity for him, and took a pitcher from the bag. "And protein shakes," he said. He filled the pitcher with powder and milk, then opened the package of sleeping pills. The dosage suggested two pills before bed, but Stetson wondered, as active as Matt had been lately, if that would be enough. He decided four would suffice, crushed them with his claws into the mixture, and stirred it up. It didn't blend well, filled with nasty, chunky-looking brown lumps. Chocolate mocha, the container of protein said. Doubtful. But Matt snatched the pitcher away from him with both hands--even his fingers looked thicker--and guzzled its contents within seconds, pink tongue greedily licking away the clumps on the inside of the glass pitcher.

"More!" he pleaded.

Stetson nodded, filling the pitcher again, and starting to wonder if, with as much as they'd bought, it was enough. It had cost a pretty penny. Matt watched intently as Stetson stirred, his cock still spasming dryly above his matted belly. His stomach made a loud, protracted gurgle, and then, as the rabbit handed him the pitcher and he began to drink again, it actually began to ooze clear fluid once more. Stetson couldn't believe it. Was it possible Matt had metabolized the shake that quickly, and was already using it to produce more precum? The notion would have seemed utterly ludicrous a few days ago, but now...

Matt shoved the pitcher back into his hands and he began to fill it again. The otter's belly growled again and again, and that ooze of lubricant from his tip gradually turned into a stream. Matt looked down at his bobbing shaft, and his tongue curled out and licked at his nose. "Just once," he said, looking to Stetson. "I just need to cum once more, and then I can rest, I think. Please. Please, I need it so badly." His voice shook. "Got to fuck, got to mate, got to... got to rut..."

Pity plucked at Stetson's chest, mingled with desire. Even through the mentholated mask, the scent was urging him to lean down, run his tongue up that impressive shaft, cradle those huge orbs, swallow the glistening nectar spilling down from the tip, lick the furred abs clean of it. He shook his head, forcing himself back to focus, aware that his own cock was pressing painfully into his trousers. "You need to sleep first," he said. "Then we'll see." He handed another pitcher to Matt, wondering how long the soporific would take to affect him. Matt guzzled it down, and three more after it, before Saul finally came downstairs with a plate stacked with seared tuna.

"Oh my god," said the cat, staring at the clear puddle filling in the lines between Matt's abs, filling his navel, streaming down his sides. "He's ready again." His gaze turned to Stetson, intent above the mask. "Let him fuck me."

Matt nodded eagerly, taking a fillet off the tray and cramming it into his eager maw. "Yes," he managed around the fish. "Let me fuck him!"

Stetson scowled at the tabby. "No! We talked about this, Saul!" He turned to Matt. "And you, be careful of bones." The otter began working on a second fillet by way of response, not looking any more careful than before.

"But just look at him," protested the cat. "He's a sex god. He needs to fuck. He's made for it."

"He's overdosing," snapped Stetson. "And you're trying to take advantage of him."

Saul shuddered. "I'm sorry, I just... when I'm away from him I feel fine, but when I see him there, so... so..."

His voice trailed off as Matt slumped backward onto the mattress, half a fillet of tuna still clutched in his webbed fingers, his eyes closed. Stetson sighed in relief. "There, he's asleep. Finally. Poor guy. Hopefully by the time he wakes up, this stuff will be out of his system."

"Yeah," muttered Saul. "Hopefully. So, you wanna sleep on the couch, I assume?"

Stetson shook his head. "I'll sleep down here with him, just make sure he's okay, make sure nothing happens to him in the night. Everything should be fine now he's passed out."

Saul nodded toward the otter, whose erection still jutted up above his belly, oozing steadily. "I wouldn't be so sure about that," he said.

"I'll be fine, Saul. Good night. And... thanks for your help, events of the evening notwithstanding."

"Yeah," the cat said, his voice sounding bitter. He looked at the plate of half-eaten fish, and the puddles everywhere. "God, this place is going to stink in the morning. Well, good night. I'm going to go jack off three or four times or however many it takes."

He crouched down and picked up the plate of fish, and, just when he was near Matt, Stetson saw the paper of the mask dimple inward as the cat took a deep, heavy breath. Then Saul sighed, stood up, and headed up the stairs. "Light out?" he asked.

"Yeah," Stetson said, and then the room went dark. The rabbit sat next to Matt for a few minutes. He felt slightly sick to his stomach. Perhaps it was the odd mixture of arousal and deep worry for Matt. Perhaps it was the mingled reek of sex and tuna and the horrible menthol on the mask. Or maybe it was the unexpected betrayal of Saul, a friend he had thought he could trust and rely upon. Saul had always been there for Stetson, always been supportive of his relationship with Matt, and once or twice they'd even played together and really enjoyed it. Maybe you never really knew someone until you got between them and something they really, badly wanted.

Or maybe he was just really susceptible to Matt's pheromones. Otters and cats were genetically rather close. They might have a more powerful effect on him. He shrugged. It was very dark in the basement. He didn't think there was a window, so it's not like his eyes could adjust much. There was a faint yellow line of light around the door at the top of the stairs, but nothing other than that. Suddenly, he felt very, very tired. He climbed carefully over his boyfriend in the dark and lay down next to him on the other side of the mattress, most of which was spanned by the otter's broad frame. He lay one furred arm across Matt's chest and closed his eyes, nestling up against him. Within moments, he was asleep again.

* * *

"Stetson," said a rich, angelic voice. He was surrounded by bright light and clouds. The very air seemed to shimmer.

"Yes?" he asked. "Who is this? Where am I?"

"You are dead," thundered the voice. It was frightening, yet soothing. "You have entered the afterlife."

"Dead?" he asked. "What do you mean, dead? How did I die?"

"You died of bliss," the voice said casually.

"So this is heaven?" the rabbit heard himself ask. The light was so bright, he could barely see anything.

"Yes," the voice answered. "But you were not good enough to go to heaven."

Fear gripped the rabbit's heart. "I'm going to hell, then? Please, I wasn't wicked. I don't deserve to go to hell."

"No," said the voice. "You were not wicked enough to go to hell."

"Then... what?" Stetson asked.

"Your life was filled with neither great piety nor great evil. But it was filled with great eroticism. Therefore," thundered the invisible voice, "You will go to Sex."

Stetson frowned. "What?" he asked, and then the light went out, and he found himself in a strange room. The walls seemed to pulse, and tendrils slithered across the floor. The sudden smell of musk hit his nose like a brick; he felt his malehood jut up and press painfully against his trousers, and unthinkingly, he pushed them down. Tendrils snaked around his wrists and ankles instantly. Another thin tendril coiled around his neck, rubbing up under his chin. He gasped in shock, and immediately his lungs were filled with the thick, heady air, and then something pushed up under his tail from behind, wriggling easily into the hole there. He groaned aloud, feeling whatever it was sink deeper within him, pushing him up into the air, stretching him wider, making his cock ooze. It began to pulse in and out of him, rubbing with aching smoothness against his ring, jutting up against his prostate, and all he could think of was, "I have died and gone to Sex, and this isn't so bad, actually; it's wonderful, and if this goes on and on for eternity, I will be the luckiest rabbit..."

And then his eyes opened, and he realized that his hands were braced against two firm pectoral muscles, his feet on the floor and mattress, and oh god he was being fucked by Matt in his sleep. There was enough dim light coming from around the door that he could faintly see in the dark. Matt's eyes were closed, and he was breathing heavily through his muzzle, still plainly asleep even as his hips thrust up into Stetson, filling him so achingly perfectly. Stetson's mask was dangling around his neck. It must have gotten pushed down in his sleep, and now the rabbit realized he didn't want to put it back. He breathed in deeply, feeling the adoration, the need for his boyfriend surge through him, and he pushed back against the otter's thrusts. His cock bobbed heavily before him, dripping down onto Matt's chest, between the rabbit paws braced there. This was right, this was perfect, this is how it should be, serving his otter, pleasuring him even while he slept. Matt's thrusts were powerful, his abs clenching like a giant fist, even as his shoulders and arms lay still and unmoving at his bulging sides. In the faint light, Stetson could see the otter's tongue curl out at the open air, and he leaned forward to take it between his teeth, tilting his head, suckling hungrily at it. Matt gave a low, rich groan in his sleep, and then the thick organ buried in Stetson's rump flexed once, twice, and then the rabbit felt the climax erupt into him with a palpable impact, so much so he pulled forward slightly. The otter mewled into Stetson's kissing muzzle, a plaintive, hungry sound, his cock throbbing again and again as it emptied, and then, beneath his fingers, Stetson felt the otter tensing beneath his fingers, his hands moved apart by swelling slabs of muscle, the ache behind him intensifying as what was within him slipped just slightly farther, stretched him just a little wider in the darkness.

With trembling fingers, he reached up and pulled the mask over his nose once more.