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\n\t\t\t\t\tincorgnito!With a short story by
\n\t\t\t\t\tdolphinsanity:Being an anthro with 2x the equipment and 2x the arms is one thing. Being flexible enough to get a taste of oneself is another matter.
Fortunately for Asrael, he is an otter. And even more importantly, he’s a fey. Where some might need to resort to curling into a gymnastic ball… his options can be more of a waiting game.
Especially on a day like today.
As he gets hornier and hornier, his black rods grow to work -- erecting into towers that climb up past his midriff, then his chest, and his other chest -- until one is kissing his chin with its plump, phallic head. There’s little else more lewdly autoerotic than an under-neck nuzzling from one’s own meatus, the soft fuzz of the neck teasing the hole. He can feel the solid firmness of it pressing the floor of his mouth from below -- a hot and bothered citizen of his bodily court, demanding audience, and big enough to be a headrest besides. He nods atop it, gently mashing it into the crook of his neck, rhythmically pressuring the frenulum. All the while, his lower hands have found their way to the base of the other shaft, kneading and feeling up it as it hardens to the same succulent size.
Getting even bigger is tempting, but not as tempting as the private, self-slutty hunger of getting that nearest phallus into his mouth. He leans back and cranes his neck, the burnt orange of his goatee caressing the glans before he takes it in and suckles, the precum familiar and the rising musk pleasant in his nose. Just taking care of this himself, no need to make this an even bigger deal…
His balls are sagging heavily below, the meatiness of them evident in the otherwise normal confines of his large double sack. Sparing a hand to give them a squeeze might be nice, but between supporting his pose with one pair of hands and jerking with the other, he is content to grind them slowly as he shuffles his bottom and thighs in place. The pre flows gradually down the shaft he isn’t tending with his mouth -- the fluid reaching the fingertips, making wet sounds as it spreads.
Both shafts are feeling good. Really good. Deep into his groin, there’s an ongoing hum of pleasure and hidden contractions, the pent-up fluid within churning. He is tasting himself more, tongue probing the tip-slit while his other hands go quicker at their own efforts. It won’t be long now… certainly no ‘longer’ than his shafts already are! He feels a bulge of defiant growth add pressure to the act, his neck straining as he hurries to vent his seed before the untamed beast of his virility can outsize his ability to suckle on it. A heavier dollop flows onto his tongue, the contractions inside his pelvis dispensing big, drooling drops from that exposed tip as well. He spreads it over the shaft, the preseed like a lather.
He runs his hands up and down that self-lubed wonder, coaxing some choice spots while he smooches and slurps at the tip he has been enjoying. From inside, he can feel the metaphorical dam opening, the flood slipping through and soon to emerge in force. It carries with it that rising, perfect feeling that could make a person go weak at the knees in ecstasy.
He closes his eyes, lets out a muffled murr, and readies his mouth to drink as much from that tap as he possibly can. Even as he does, he feels the head of that prick pulsate -- tightening, enlarging, informing him he may only have a shot or two before it outgrows his jaws and bathes his face in his bounty.
His murr fades to a quieter moan as he accepts his fate -- taking in two gulps before the growth kicks in, cheeks bulging to their limits as he tilts his head up and lets his monster rise. It spurts again, and the cream fountains over his face and down his neck. All the while, his other shaft is falling suit -- first covering the area in front of him, and now settling to shorter shots that spatter along his balls, down his member, and soak his hands.
It’s a lot for one otter… but his slow, satisfied gulp makes it evident to those watching that he finds it worth the effort.
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