Sigil flicking the light switch from the bathroom on, twitching-tailed silhouette jammed in the doorway. A finger over our mouth as we sink back into the room to invite your pursuit and leave the convention behind for some squirrelspace delving. Yearning met with yearning, as it ever is ❤️ Balros Balros is there, in naught but fur, underwear, and dense bulges. He breathes in but stays quiet, stepping over sleeping and snoring others, quietly closing the door behind him with his tail. Upon arriving in the living room with you, his lips are upon yours, his thickbig fingers wrapping around your sheath, other palm pressing against your fur-enrobed breasts. Sigil is there, bowing the counter with her weight, legs thrown open as freely as her arms into the embrace you find yourself in. The barest brush of your palm under her heavy-laden breasts brings a triad of nipple-cocks surging out of their sheathes on her chest. Her lips full and velvety, they devour yours, kissing and dragging you in against her round, fur swathed gut, so much warm indulgent squirrel for you to sink into as her hands caress your body and draw away your underwear in one sweeping motion. To grasp your undertail and tease your muskiness, all the while locking lips, slurp-suckling your tongue, pressing her numerous throbbing members into Balros' company, filling the small room with soft moans of delight and comfort for the merest scraps of your late-night attentions and love. Balros & Echoen His dense, heavy, burdensomely endowed squirrel lover is exactly what and who he needs to feel. The counter creaks dangerously as his touch evokes intense growth and the unveiling of more and more needful flesh; three nippledicks from each breast and three pairs of ballsacs to accomodate them. His tongue tousels with yours, the squirrel's corruptively addictive taste intense enough to split your tongue into three as well and transform each into more erections clogging his mouth. Throats bulge and he seems happy; his underwear simply bursting apart as his sheath disgorges an aching erection fueled by fatly overswollen balls. But he has no restraint at all, not when your belovedly plump belly is welcoming him against him. There is just something about your stomach, its shape and full roundness, thick-furred and full of womb, that coaxes the squirrelboy to just, fucking, cum. As if his ability to restrain his seed is simply lost upon contact; his paws caressing adoringly across your belly's curves and flank as he humpthrusts against it and soaks it in his seed. In the room behind him, his snoring lover gives a brief snore-snrk as his cum corrupts her, too, and her foxish tum begins to plump into a furry dome of Sigil squirrel gut... Sigil soaks, smile pulled at her lips even as involved as they are. plunging her nipplecocks needfully throatful by throatful as she lifts her cum-soaked belly with spare hands. revealing monumental cooze that lip-puckers towards you. Flanked by greasy, steaming squirrelfur, her cuntmouth absolutely devours your gushing shaft, slurp-sucking its way down your throb-swelling growth and using your corruptive virility to fuel her own growth. She comes around you, slipping slowly, slickly, wantonly on to you, never to disengage again. Her flesh climaxes in turn, gushing and flowing against you, her eyes locked to yours, cooze locked in escalating coitus as it milks you spurt by spurt. Come to her again soon. We will be monsters. She is glad to help, always, and so pleased for the company. You had best have a wonderful time this weekend. <3