Nick sat on his living room couch, one leg bouncing up and down as his footpaw tapped out a lively rhythm on the floor. It was Friday once again, exactly one week since the last time he visited his...

His what? Friend? No, that felt too casual. Friend with benefits? Even that didn’t really fit. There were benefits, to be sure, but he wasn’t sure about the ‘friends’ part. They’d certainly gotten [i]friendly[/i], but when you thought of a friend, you usually thought of an equal—and they were most certainly not equals. Maybe that was just him, though. Maybe you could still call someone a friend even when you were completely under their thumb. No, the word didn’t fit.

He didn’t know what to call his relationship with Jack. They’d only interacted twice, but both times had ended up with him walking away with a belly full of the ursaring’s piss, which lent itself to an imbalance of power which made it hard for Nick to find the correct words to use.

Or maybe it just made it hard to use them. There were certainly a few words he knew that would work, just none that didn’t make him feel like an idiot and blush clean through his fur whenever he so much as thought them, though perhaps not purely out of embarrassment. It was that particular absurd excitement that characterized his every interaction with Jack.

He glanced up at the clock on the wall. 3:58PM. Time was ticking by at a crawl. He still had about forty minutes to wait before he headed out if he wanted to arrive at the time Jack had set—and he most certainly did, not a minute later or earlier, as much as he would’ve loved to be able to see Jack right then and there. He didn’t want to go against Jack’s word, because Jack wouldn’t like that. Pleasing the ursaring seemed to be the impetus behind a great many of his decisions as of late.

Leaning forward, Nick grabbed a bottle of water off of the coffee table in front of him and took a long drag, draining the last inch of water from it before tossing it over his shoulder. It landed with a clatter in a pile of a half dozen identical bottles, all similarly empty.

Nick wasn’t usually the type to toss litter around his own home, nor was he the kind of person to be quite so fanatical about hydration. His typical modus operandi was to drink when he was thirsty, but the past two weeks of his life had been anything but typical. His drinking habits were just one of so many things that had changed quite significantly since Jack came into his life.

When Nick had been about to walk out the door after his last visit with Jack, the ursaring had suggested the idea of them exchanging contact information, in his own particular way of suggesting things. Which was to say, he grabbed Nick by the shoulder when he was halfway out the front door and demanded the number to his cellphone. Nick agreed, of course, both out of his growing inability to refuse an order and because of the embarrassingly strong joy he felt that Jack would want to talk to him.

Jack didn’t provide his own number in return, which meant that Nick would only end up receiving it when a text popped up in his inbox on Friday morning that told him to make sure he was well-hydrated for 5PM. The particular combination of eggplant and sweat emojis attached to the message made it clear what sense Jack meant that in. Not exactly a subtle sort of communication, but certainly effective.

Which left Nick where he was now. He looked up at the clock again. 3:59PM. Letting out a sigh through his nostrils, he leaned forward and grabbed a fresh water bottle off of the table in front of him, twisting off the cap before bringing it up to his lips for a swig.

---

Nick moved down the sidewalk with high speed and low confidence. Constant nervous glances at the buildings flanking him, at the cars passing by him on the street. Practically the only thing that didn’t get glances were the other pedestrians passing him on the sidewalk, and that was because his eyes were glued to the ground until they were well and past, a pointed attempt to avoid catching their attention. Likely a null effort, given the sheer amount of suspicion he exuded.

Or maybe that was just his perception, and in reality he looked completely unremarkable. It was impossible for him to say. All he could do was keep moving, working his way up through the familiar surroundings of Saratoga Street, street numbers steadily incrementing as he approached his destination.

Until it finally came into view. 2240, beige walls and deck, all just how he remembered it—and he definitely remembered it. Even having only seen the place twice and only been inside once, the memory of it was imprinted quite firmly in his mind. It was funny how that was, how you didn’t need to go somewhere a whole lot of times to remember every little detail. You just needed one experience intense enough to sear every nook and cranny into your mind.

Nick stood at the edge of the sidewalk where it gave way to the gravel path leading to Jack’s property. Did he sweat this much last time he was here? Did he [i]ever[/i] sweat this much? Fire types didn’t tend to have problems with the heat. Must’ve been all the water. He hopped from paw to paw with motion spurred by a mix of nerves, the heat of the sidewalk, and the ever present and forcibly suppressed need to relieve himself.

How could you still be nervous about meeting someone after they’d pissed down your throat not once, but twice? Nick still didn’t really have an answer for that one. Maybe there were people that you just always felt nervous about interacting with, regardless of how much you enjoyed yourself with them. Regardless of how much you [i]craved[/i] their company on a deep, primal level. That was just the effect they had on you.

The longer he dragged things out, the more suspicious he was going to look, standing out in front of the house while barely able to keep himself still—and suspicion was hardly what Nick wanted to attract, given the sort of things he’d gotten up to last time he came down this street and stopped at this building. Nothing for it but to actually do what he’d come here to do, then.

Drawing in a deep breath through his nose so that his chest puffed out, ignoring the way his body shifting once again brought the fullness of his bladder to the forefront of his senses, Nick marched up to the door and planted two solid knocks right on the centre of it. He’d drawn his fist back for a third, but by that time his mind had caught up with his body, and his faltering will meant that all he could do was lower his hand back down to his side to shake in anticipation like the rest of his body was doing.

There was a creaking from inside from what Nick knew had to be Jack’s couch complaining as his weight shifted in it, followed by the sounds of approaching footsteps, all so similar to the last time he’d visited. All the familiar sounds, save one—none of the bear’s angry grumbling like Nick had heard last time, when he’d shown up unannounced and unexpected.

The reason behind that was obvious, but made especially clear when the door was pulled open to reveal the ursaring standing on the other side, his muzzle cracked in a grin even before he’d gotten sight of who it was that’d knocked—not that it took long before he’d angled his eyes down to lock on Nick’s own, eye contact held for a brief moment before the braixen was forced to avert his gaze, unable to withstand the full bore of Jack’s stare. Yes, this time was quite different from the last. Nick’s visit was more than expected; it’d practically been demanded. 

“You’re a bit early,” Jack said, the words carrying amusement rather than annoyance, “but I guess you were gettin’ impatient, weren’tcha? Can’t say I wasn’t, myself.”

The ursaring took a step back and motioned Nick in with a wave of a hand—though, as Nick quickly noticed when he shuffled forward to take up that invitation, not nearly back enough that he could make his way through easily. No, it was a bit of a squeeze, pressed up on one side against the door and the other against Jack’s body.

Nick could feel the firm muscle there, lying under a soft layer of fat, the body warmth trapped by the bear’s fur—and a lingering dampness as Nick finally managed to squeeze past, the older man’s sweat having smeared itself along his fur where the two of them touched. The scent of it made its way into Nick’s nose on the shifting wind as Jack shut the door behind them, and he couldn’t suppress a shudder even at that slight taste of the ursaring’s body. He’d be tasting much more of it before his time here was through, he was sure.

Before he could be free of his touch for too long, Nick sensed the ursaring moving up behind him. Nick first noticed him only as a shadow cast across his back and a warmth radiating from behind him, then as a far more concrete presence as a hand clamped itself under his tail, grabbing a handful of the softness there before giving it a firm squeeze.

Nick froze up, eyes shooting wide and breath hitching in his throat at the feel of Jack’s hands on him. Not that he’d expected anything else, but all the expectation in the world couldn’t keep away the same reactions, the same irrepressible thrill at being groped so brazenly. When his breath returned, it was quick, shallow, and only growing faster as Jack pulled Nick back against him so that the bear’s cock was grinding against the ass that he’d been squeezing just a moment before. It felt thick, but Nick knew from experience that, even as big as it felt, it hadn’t even begun to reach its full potential.

Jack moved his hands to Nick’s front, burying his fingers into the ruff of fur there to feel at the chest beneath; they seemed to find his nipples near instantly, and Nick’s stiffness gave way to shivering as the bear grabbed a hold of them and started to tweak and roll them between his fingers with a gentleness that hinted at potential for far greater roughness, momentarily held in check.

“Tell me, Nick,” Jack rumbled into Nick’s ear, the sound of his name in the ursaring’s mouth causing him to suck in a breath through his teeth. “How many other people have you done stuff with?”

Nick clenched his jaw and screwed up his muzzle. A very personal question, but Nick supposed you were in a position to ask someone personal questions when you were grinding against them from behind while groping them from the front. Still, the answer to that was...

“Nobody?” Jack mused, and from the way he’d thrown it out so casually, Nick had to figure that he’d already known. Like it’d somehow shown in his behaviour—or the bear could just smell it on him. Regardless, Nick gave a single, slight nod, the most he could bring himself to offer in the way of confirmation.

Jack gave a low chuckle, one that Nick could feel reverberate in his back. “Knew it. I thought about telling you not to go looking for anyone else, you know, but I figured I didn’t needta.”

He released his grip on Nick’s nipples and started moving his hands lower, following the curves of his sides, letting his fingers trace along the soft planes of the braixen’s belly. “You’re just so desperate for someone to boss you around.”

Nick let out a whimper and, for lack of anything to do with his hands, reached up and grabbed onto the bicep of Jack’s arm in front of him. Not to push it away or try controlling its movement at all; he just held onto it, muzzle pressed alongside it, as if the ursaring were big and strong enough that Nick could anchor himself in his presence—keep himself from floating off, in spite of how light he felt whenever Jack touched him.

Plus, to speak of more concrete things that Nick didn’t need to veer into poetics to describe, it brought his nose delightfully close to Jack’s armpit. Fumes of sweat and body odour wafted out from the underside of the bear’s arm, and whenever the scent of it made its way to Nick’s nose, he shuddered in Jack’s grip like a leaf caught in a stiff breeze.

It did nothing but prove Jack’s point, and as amused as he might’ve been by Nick’s submissiveness, the satisfaction he got from putting Nick into such a state went far beyond surface level amusement. The way his grip tightened and the way his cock twitched where it lay pressed under the braixen’s tail went a ways towards making that clear.

As if in search of yet more evidence of the sheer amount of power he held over Nick, Jack’s hands worked their way yet lower across his body. One found its way to the area between the braixen’s legs. Its fingers curled under Nick’s balls in a grip that left the opening of his sheath pressed against Jack’s palm, the entirety of his maleness encompassed by just one of the bear’s hands.

Jack’s other hand went a fair bit higher, grabbing Nick just over the spot where his fur frilled outwards, palm planted at the bottom of his belly—right over top of where his bladder was. It felt firm under his touch, full enough to resist whatever pressure he put, just as he’d requested. It explained why Nick wasn’t bursting out of his sheath, as well; unlikely that the braixen would be able to get an erection with a bladder that full, however excited or pent-up he might’ve been.

Jack was well aware of that phenomenon, being only half-erect because of it in spite of all the close contact, though that wasn’t what tipped Nick off to the bear’s need for relief. No, that was because of the whiff of booze Nick had scented on his breath, which led to a wandering eye that settled on the sight of a coffee table cluttered with open beer cans. No doubt about it, Jack had been doing some drinking of his own.

Funnily enough, the sight—or more specifically, the thoughts and conclusions that sight by necessity led to—filled Nick with a thrill of anticipation. His excitement must have been evident, either from the path of his eyes or perhaps a surreptitious twitch rolling through his sheath in spite of its suppression, because he heard and felt another chuckle from Jack roll through his back. It came alongside a squeeze of his hand, one that had Nick letting out a whine and bucking up against the bear’s wrist.

“Really gotta go, huh?” Jack asked, a question to which Nick was already nodding his head in reply even before it was finished being asked. The ursaring drummed on the taut surface of Nick’s bladder with the fingers of one hand while slipping the thumb of his other into the opening of Nick’s sheath, rolling it along the sensitive head contained within. The braixen’s flaccid cock twitched again in response, less out of arousal—though that was most certainly present—and more from his body’s desperate attempts to keep from spilling over.

Jack’s own breathing was getting faster from the feeling of Nick’s body squirming against his, a constant stream of small, restless motions as he struggled now not only against his own bodily urges, but the ursaring’s hands trying to draw them out of him. Yet even amidst all that difficulty, Nick didn’t raise a word of complaint, only ground himself back against Jack with that much more desperation, as eager for more of that treatment as he was to desperate to relieve himself.

How had Jack been so lucky as to come across such an enormously horny and helplessly perverted braixen? He had no idea, but he wasn’t going to ask questions. He was going to make sure that he got what he wanted and used the cute little fox to satisfy his every desire—which was, as luck would have it, exactly what Nick wanted as well.

“Maybe I’ll let you,” Jack said, releasing his hold on Nick’s sheath and shifting his arms into a firm grip around the braixen’s torso, one looped under his shoulders while the other made its way to his side. “After I’m done with you.”

Nick let out a high squeak as Jack, with only a slight grunt of effort, lifted him clean off his feet and into a bridal carry. Caught off-guard by the gesture, Nick started flailing his arms for purchase, and found it with his arms wrapped around the bear’s neck and shoulders.

Jack gave him a self-satisfied grin. The spitting image of romance: unshowered, laden with beer, and about to do Arceus-knew-what to him, though there was no doubt that it would end up with him either being dripping with or with a belly full of the bear’s piss. Nick briefly considered trying to kiss him, but worried that might be too forward, settled for burying his muzzle into the crook of Jack’s shoulder instead.

The hallway was a straight shot to the living room, past the coffee table and its slew of cans and over to the couch in front of it, softly illuminated by the glow of the television, the curtains shut against the sunlight. Jack draped himself across its length, one foot outstretched along the cushions, one planted on the floor, and Nick was laid at his side to be squished between the back of the couch and the side of the bear’s body.

Not that he minded the squeeze. Nick planted one hand in the middle of Jack’s chest, while his head rested against the bear’s shoulder. One of his legs was pinned under Jack’s body, leaving Nick’s crotch pressed up against the spot where Jack’s leg met his torso, sheath squishing against the start of a thigh with every movement. It was more intimate a position than they’d ever been in before, even given all the passion they’d shared. It was exquisite.

Though Jack wasn’t keen on giving Nick much time to luxuriate in the position. No time to stop and smell the roses, so to speak; he was intent on having the braixen smell something else. With a smirk as much at his wit as at the thought of what he was planning, Jack lifted an arm up above his head, baring his armpit towards Nick.

“Don’t think I got to tell you what to do, eh?” Jack said, staring into Nick’s eyes. The braixen met his gaze dead-on, unflinching, all the anxiety and hesitation he’d felt before evaporating in the face of unabashed desire. He wanted Jack, each and every inch of him in whatever way he could get it, a need so powerful and urgent that it near enough overshadowed other pressing needs, which were ignored and relegated to a mere unconscious squirming. Easily ignored, the motions only serving to grind his sheath up and down against the thick trunk of Jack’s leg, exciting him more and more.

For all the strength of that desire, it was no surprise that Nick wasted no time in indulging himself in what he’d been offered. As soon as Jack had lifted his arm, Nick had felt his mouth start to water and a tension start up within him, a restraint so difficult to maintain it was physically felt. When Jack spoke and gave him that implied consent, he let it evaporate at once; he made a frantic shimmy down the couch to get his head into position, then dove forward, burying himself nose deep into the tuft of fur in the crook of the bear’s armpit.

He took a deep, sharp breath. The brief whiffs of Jack’s smell he’d been getting up to that point had been enough to make him weak in the knees, but compared to what he was getting now, those were positively subtle. Sweat beaded on the edges of his nostrils. With his nose pressed right up against its source, the smell of salty, masculine musk had become so thick, so overpoweringly strong, that it felt like it stuck inside him as he inhaled it. It sat heavy in his chest, cloying in the back of his throat; he felt like he could practically taste the stuff.

But ‘practically’ wasn’t nearly enough when he could have ‘literally’. Without any prompting needed on Jack’s end, Nick opened his muzzle and dragged his tongue up along the underside of the bear’s arm, clumps of fur exchanging sweat for spit as he passed over them. By the time he’d reached Jack’s bicep, his mouth was well and thick with the taste of ursaring. When Nick drew his tongue back into his mouth to swallow it all, it was only a second before it was out again alongside a panting moan. He kept his nose buried in the bear’s armpit while he shook and clung to him like he was everything in the world.

Jack couldn’t help but find it cute. Hell, he’d even go so far as to say adorable—but finding the braixen to be adorable only made Jack want to do even more things to him, to see just how wild the young thing’s worship could become. He reached across his chest with his unraised arm and planted his hand between Nick’s ears, pulling the braixen’s face tighter against his body. Sure enough, he felt the braixen’s tongue start up again, this time in small, fastidious licks that were careful to mop up and gulp down as much sweat from his pit as possible.

“That’s right,” Jack crooned, running his fingers through the fur of Nick’s head while he worked, occasionally giving him a scritch behind the ears. “Good boy. You keep at that, and we’ll see if we can’t put your mouth to work somewhere else after, eh?”

A reward of being able to continue servicing the ursaring with his mouth, with no promise of him being touched at all? To most people, it’d probably seem a raw deal. To Nick, his mouth watered at the thought of being able to continue dragging his tongue across every square inch of Jack’s body. That watering served him well; there was a whole lot of bear to go, and even as sweaty as he was, Nick was going to need all the moisture he could get.

Even as favourite a spot of his as it was proving to be, Nick didn’t stay in Jack’s armpit for too long. Guided half by the pressure of Jack’s hand, half by his own desires, Nick shuffled down the couch as he painted a trail of spit that wore steadily down towards the bear’s groin.

Nick wasn’t sure whether he would be so brazen as to put his mouth on Jack’s cock without the bear’s say-so. It looked so inviting, laying against his belly just a scant few inches away from his muzzle, that Nick wondered whether his slavish devotion to the bear’s whims or the insatiable desire for his body would win out. The outcome of such a fight seemed impossible to determine, even to him, growing more and more uncertain as the musk drifting up from between Jack’s legs started to invade his nostrils—noticeably distinct from the way the rest of him smelled, as much in scent as in effect. It made his brain feel muggy, unable to focus on anything but getting more of that scent and sating the burning lust it filled him with.

Thankfully, there’d wind up being no need for him to decide after all. Once Nick had gotten close enough to the object of his desire for tufts of Jack’s pubic fur to brush along his nose, the ursaring used his grip on the back of his head to forcibly shift Nick’s muzzle down, until his mouth was pressed right up against the bear’s maleness. His nose was planted right between Jack’s balls, while his shaft laid over top of his snout, a hefty presence even in its flaccid state.

“S’what you’ve been waiting for, isn’t it?” Jack said, drinking in those last few moments of Nick’s struggle to contain himself, efforts that grew ever more desperate and strained with every wave of musk his fevered pants brought washing over his brain—but holding out nonetheless, awaiting Jack’s permission. “Well, go ahead, then.”

With that, all holds were broken. Nick was moving before Jack even had time to relax the grip of his hand on the braixen’s head, his tongue springing free and dragging over the ursaring’s balls and up along the underside of his shaft until he could get the tip of it aligned with his mouth. Then, with a quick kiss to its foreskinned head, Nick plunged forward and took the whole thing into his muzzle.

The motion peeled it back, leaving Jack’s glans sitting exposed on Nick’s tongue. If he hadn’t already been able to figure it out from dragging his tongue from his armpit to his crotch, this definitely spelled it: the bear was lacking a shower, for the past twenty-four hours at the very least. Nick could taste cum clinging to his cock, the end result of a poor job cleaning up after jacking off, the residue of his pleasures left to sit and stew under his foreskin.

Until Nick came to lick it clean, of course. He wondered if the ursaring was always this filthy, or if it was something he went out of his way to do because he knew Nick would be coming to service him. Either way, Nick couldn’t be happier. The latter case was good for obvious reasons, but in the former, that meant that Jack plain needed him here. Who else would be able, be willing, be [i]eager[/i] to clean every inch of this great ursaring with his muzzle? Wiping up every bit of sweat and stink with his tongue, be it from his armpits, under the hood of his foreskin, even if Nick had to wedge his face between the bear’s cheeks and lap at his asshole!

Nick let out a moan around a mouthful of cock, slipping his hands under Jack’s mighty bulk to grab two handfuls of the bear’s ass. Even that wasn’t enough to encompass it, big as Jack was, but Nick squeezed what he’d managed to grab a hold of. His fingers sunk into the soft fat there, pressing against the firm muscle underneath. At the same time, Nick swallowed, gulping down spit infused with the taste of the ursaring’s greasy cock before moving his tongue to collect yet more of it, its flat surface sliding across Jack’s glans from every angle so that no bit of grime that clung to it escaped his efforts.

Sprawled out on the couch with a cute braixen boy’s face buried in his lap, dutifully lapping and suckling at his cock. Was there any better way to spend a Friday afternoon? Jack let out a sigh of pleasure, running his fingers through the fur on the back of Nick’s head. Well, it could be better, he supposed. If he decided to [i]truly[/i] relax.

He tightened his grip on Nick’s head, making sure he was held tight in place—not that the braixen seemed eager to try pulling away—and as preoccupied with polishing Jack’s tool as he was, Nick barely even seemed to notice.

That was, until he felt Jack’s cock swell slightly in his muzzle, a half-second his urethra widened and a stream of piss started to blast the surface of Nick’s tongue.

Taken by surprise, Nick couldn’t help but cough and splutter, golden fluid leaking from his muzzle to roll down his chin and over Jack’s balls. The coughing brought the stuff shooting up the back of his throat into his nose, and it quickly became so that all he could smell or taste was the salty, bitter tang of the bear’s urine.

While he tried to collect himself, Nick felt fingers dig into the back of his skull, accompanied by an annoyed growl from the ursaring above him. “Hey, no spilling. Don’t go messin’ my couch.”

Nick felt a pang of shame in his chest. To think that he’d been so rude as to spill even a single drop of what Jack had to offer! The embarrassment manifested as a blush, as burning as the bit of urine that had worked its way into his sinuses while he was coughing and hacking. Keen on redeeming himself, he let the stream continue pouring into his mouth for a moment or two until his cheeks had just started to bulge with the stuff, then swallowed it down in one great gulp.

Which was when the taste of it hit him with full intensity, even more so than when it’d stuck itself in the back of his nose. The flavour was the same as he’d expected and already tasted, salt and bitterness all, but the potency was near unbearable when he was gulping it down in such quantity as he was. Jack hadn’t been throwing back water like he’d been; he’d been throwing back booze, and what he was putting out spoke to that. It would’ve been enough to stink up a bathroom if he’d hit a urinal, but instead, Nick was filling that role, gulping down Jack’s dark, pungent piss as fast as he could put it out.

And he was enjoying it! Even as the smell of urine awakened Nick’s own need for relief so that he had to clench his thighs together and clasp his hands between his legs in an effort to stem back the tide. Even as his tongue and nose reeled with the foulness of what he was drinking, his stomach gurgling as it was forced to accept yet more liquid on top of all the water he’d already slugged back, his bladder tightening as if in anticipation of what it was going to be forced to hold. In the face of all of that, Nick loved every moment of what he was going through.

“Probably looked forward more to this even more than me cumming in you, didn’t you?” Jack said, his grip on Nick’s head having gone slack now that the braixen had adjusted to things and there was no risk of him pulling away in surprise. “Thirsty for my piss even when you’re so full of your own you can’t even sit still.”

Jack was right, Nick thought, more right than he knew. Nick wasn’t enjoying himself in spite of that laundry list of sensations, but because of them. He loved the acrid burn of it in his nostrils, the way his body protested taking in a single extra drop of any fluid, let alone something as reprehensible as this old bear’s piss. More on the nose, he loved gulping down mouthful after mouthful of it in flagrant disregard of those feelings, devoting himself to serving Jack so completely, so utterly, on such a base and shameful level.

Besides, the taste wasn’t [i]that[/i] bad, once you got used to it. He could see himself looking forward to it, as long as he always got to drink it right from the source, with his nose pressed up against the greasy fur above Jack’s cock and his chin nestled between his heavy balls.

It was a long one, as far as pisses went. That was a foregone conclusion, given all the beer that had gone into making it. Nothing hard, given Jack wanted to retain the ability to [i]get[/i] hard himself, but enough to give him a pleasant buzz and, of course, get his juices flowing.

And they were definitely flowing. Jack thought it was a right shame just how many people out there would never get the chance to indulge in the joy that was sticking yourself into a warm, wet mouth, and just [i]letting go.[/i] It added a layer of pleasure and comfort to the relief that he found impossible to describe. It just felt plain right.

There were other parts of the equation that were a whole lot easier to describe the appeal of, though. For example, the sight of that fox boy’s face, screwed up into a half-grimace even as his eyes were trying to roll into the back of his head. At first Jack had thought they were trying to look up to meet his own, but then he realised that, no, Nick was just enjoying choking down his piss that much.

Jack couldn’t even begin to fathom the appeal of it himself, but he certainly enjoyed seeing the effect it had on someone else. The way Nick’s whole face lit up in a blush that shone clear through his fur, the way his breath shuddered every time he finished swallowing—even the way Nick grabbed his ass. Not that he’d let the twink of a braixen anywhere near it with anything but his tongue, but it went that much more towards showing just how utterly enamoured Nick was with him.

And the way he squirmed. He wasn’t even sure Nick was aware of it or if it was just a subconscious thing, but it was constant: shuffling legs, thumping paws, tail flicking back and forth behind him, a constant sense of wriggling motion. The braixen just couldn’t keep himself still, and Jack knew perfectly well why.

Just how much fluid had Nick thrown back before he’d shown up on Jack’s stoop? He couldn’t give exact figures, but from what he’d felt of the braixen’s bladder when he was groping him earlier, Jack knew it was enough for what he wanted, which was to turn Nick from his usual nervous self into something even more whimpering and desperate—if such a thing were even possible.

And by the looks of it, it was. Jack could actually see Nick getting squirmier as he unloaded down his throat, his relief translating directly into a fuller, sloshing belly for the poor little fox—though Nick likely wouldn’t perceive himself as anything but lucky, and the ursaring as exhibiting anything but saintly generosity by offering him the opportunity to serve as a cute, fuzzy urinal. 

As much as Jack might’ve drank, though, his reserves were not unlimited. Eventually, that constant stream coaxed out of him by the indefatigable work of Nick’s mouth and tongue started to die down, at first to a trickle, then to a few scant bursts that Nick allowed to pool in the back of his throat before gulping down. Then, after a moment spent lapping at the head of Jack’s dick to make sure he’d gotten every last drop that might’ve been clinging to the bear’s foreskin or piss slit, Nick pulled away and let that spit-soaked shaft slip free from his muzzle with a pop and a gasp.

Nick buried his snout into the crook of Jack’s thigh, seeking out some instinctive feeling of comfort he felt with his nose buried there in that nook, the fur there sleeked with sweat and reeking of his scent. Even after having already glutted himself on so much of what Jack had to offer, Nick couldn’t help but want yet more—yet after only a scant few seconds of getting to fill his nose with the bear’s heavenly scent, a hand was grabbing him by the chin and jerking his muzzle up, away from Jack’s body so that their eyes could meet.

“Barely spilled a drop past that little spat at the start, there,” Jack said, his words sounding almost impressed. Nick practically melted into the ursaring’s hand, the praise satisfying some need deep inside of him—before it came back in force, hungry for yet more of that praise, needing to please the bear even more, to serve. “How ‘bout I fuck you in the ass and make you a right proper faggot?”

It was impossible for Nick to nod fast enough to express just how much he wanted that. Jack seemed to get the idea well enough, though; he let out a bark of laughter, then released Nick’s chin, sitting up straight so that he could lean forward and grab Nick from around the waist before spinning him around and pulling the braixen back towards himself. By the end of it, they’d ended up so that Nick’s ass was in Jack’s face and his thighs were resting on the ursaring’s shoulders.

Nick gasped, scrabbling on the couch, barely managing to find a place to plant his hands so that he wouldn’t slip off the side and go careening onto the floor. The shock and need for such sudden motion meant Nick’s attention was wrenched away from containing himself, at least for that brief moment. That lapse in focus was just enough for a small squirt of pee to make its way past his defences, dribbling out the end of his sheath and down his belly.

Jack chuckled and laid a finger on the opening of his sheath, dragging it down and smearing the beads of urine that were clinging there across the fur of Nick’s belly. He could feel the tension of the braixen’s muscles, every ounce of their strength going towards keeping from dousing Jack’s chest. A tap from the same finger just under the base of the fox’s tail doubly confirmed it; his asshole was clenched shut, tight as a drum.

“Better not spill another drop, boy,” Jack said, flicking a finger against Nick’s sheath. “You don’t get to go ‘til I’m done with you.”

Warning though that might’ve been, it was hardly the kind of heads-up Nick needed for what Jack was going to do next, which would be why he was incapable of containing the yelp that tore its way through his throat when Jack pushed forward and buried his muzzle between Nick’s asscheeks. Nick could feel the cold of the ursaring’s nose pressing against him, contrasting sharply with the heat of the tongue that immediately started in on his tailhole with a barrage of short, powerful licks, as if he were trying to force his way inside.

Nick let out a low whine, wriggling as much as Jack’s grip on him would allow. He’d never had anyone lick him there before—as a matter of fact, Jack had never done anything with his ass before, in spite of all the other assorted perversions they’d pursued. Now that he finally was, Nick could hardly keep himself still, half due to the strange, unfamiliar pleasure of Jack’s tongue lapping against his asshole and half to the fact that it was not helping at all in terms of keeping himself under control. The strange position made things hard enough, but having Jack licking at him on top of that was making it so that he could feel his cock twitching in his sheath over and over, threatening to let loose any moment.

Jack could feel it, too. At some point, one of the ursaring’s hands had planted itself between Nick’s legs and grabbed a hold of his sheath, fingers kneading at it while his tongue continued to work at Nick’s tailhole just above. That was surprisingly easy to deal with, purely from a physical standpoint. At the same time, it also meant that Nick knew that, if he lost the slightest bit of control and let so much as a drop of urine escape him, Jack would feel it instantly. That kind of pressure was almost as bad as if those fingers were pressing directly on his bladder.

He couldn’t even get hard. Nick was so utterly filled to the brim with piss that even with Jack’s tongue slurping away at his ass and his fingers working between his legs, all Nick could manage was to just poke out of his sheath. That provided an easy target for Jack to grind his thumb along—which got the knee-locking response of Nick trying to keep himself watertight that simple sheath massaging had not.

He combined that with an especially hard press of his tongue, enough to finally force his way into Nick’s tailhole proper, and delighted in the choked squeal it drew out of the braixen. Jack could feel that ring clenching almost painfully tight around his tongue, but managed a few licks at Nick’s insides regardless before he was forced to pull himself free. In spite of all that, Nick’s sheath was just as dry as when they’d started.

Jack had to admit, the sheer level of self-control on display was impressive. But it wasn’t anything that he wouldn’t be able to overcome, particularly after that long stretch of making out with Nick’s asshole had left him rock hard and ready to sate more burning desires than a need to piss. Jack grabbed Nick and got up off the couch, manhandling the braixen with no regard for the yelps he made at the treatment until he was standing up with Nick’s back held against his chest by a grip under his shoulders, his paws dangling above the floor. The ursaring’s cock, larger than Nick’s even at the braixen’s biggest, looked positively enormous laying over his empty sheath. A drop of precum worked its way over his half-retracted foreskin, rolling down his shaft until it was wicked away by Nick’s fur.

A few seconds passed, Jack permitting Nick to indulge himself in the display: this strong, powerful ursaring, stinking of work and sweat, with that big, thick cock perfectly tying together his image of pure masculinity. Then there was him, a braixen, already one of the more effete kinds of Pokemon. It was a quality that made Nick’s being held in the ursaring’s arms, belly full of his piss, seem like a natural conclusion. His own dick, hidden inside his sheath apart from the tip, looked small and insignificant pressed against Jack’s.

His softness was what really completed the image: he was so completely and utterly dominated that he couldn’t relieve himself, couldn’t pleasure himself, couldn’t do anything without Jack’s say-so—and at that moment, Jack didn’t care about his relief or pleasure, he only cared about using Nick to get his own release. He lifted Nick up higher with a grunt, aligning the tip of his cock with the braixen’s entrance. Nick let out a happy squeal as the head of Jack’s dick pressed against his tailhole, the saliva Jack had left from tonguing his ass mixing with what Nick had painted the bear’s cock with, mixing still with the precum that was now dribbling from Jack’s cock at a steady rate.

The constant pressure of his bladder was now an afterthought. Finally, having earned it through no less than three times spent with a muzzle full of dick gulping down piss, the ursaring was about to truly make him his bitch. Plug him with that fat, oily cock of his, so that Nick would never want anyone else, male or female, ever again.

Jack was pushing down on his shoulders in an effort to do just that, but given how hard Nick was clenching in an effort to keep his cup from running over, on top of having no real experience taking anything like Jack before—evenings spent with the handle of a certain fur brush didn’t even compare—little progress was being made. Jack was oozing enough pre that Nick could feel it starting to drip down and soak the fur at the base of his tail, but all the lube in the world didn’t seem enough to force a way into Nick’s hole, much to the braixen’s clench-jawed whining and Jack’s frustrated grumbles.

“Yer too fuckin’ tight,” Jack said. “Relax.”

Nick didn’t want to annoy Jack. What he wanted was to obey every word that came out of that big, gorgeous bear’s mouth, and more presently, Nick wanted to feel that huge cock packed inside him, fat thighs slapping into his ass and one of those hands wrapped around and yanking on his tail. So, taking a deep breath and trying to marshal muscle control to a degree he wasn’t sure he was capable of, Nick did his best to relax the muscles of his ass without immediately wetting himself.

For a moment, it seemed like it was going well. He relaxed, and he could feel his ass start to give way to the head of Jack’s cock. A half-inch in, and Nick was holding his water steady. Yes, things were going just fine.

Until one of Jack’s hands found its way from Nick’s shoulder to the bottom of his belly, poised right over his bladder, taut to the touch. It was right about then that Nick realised he wasn’t going to be able to follow the orders that Jack had given him, because Jack had no intention of letting him do so. With a simultaneous shove of his hand and thrust of his hips, Jack buried himself halfway into Nick’s ass, putting the squeeze to the braixen’s bladder from inside and out.

All the willpower and muscle control in the world wouldn’t have kept Nick from his fate. All that pressure had to be released somehow, and base instincts that up to now Nick had managed to repress now refused to be ignored: what went in would now come out. Nick let out a whine of embarrassment, defeat, and long awaited relief as his sheath twitched again before a trickle of fluid escaped the tip of his cock.

It started out as a trickle, anyway, before another thrust and press overcame the last of Nick’s muscle control and turned it to a stream of clear urine, shooting out of the braixen’s sheath and up into the air to splatter down to the floor below. Nick’s whimpering was constant, sounds of pleasure and shame at once that were as impossible to contain as his presently-voiding bladder. His muzzle dropped open and his tongue hung out the front in a pant, like a boltund on a hot day.

Jack let out a laugh at his expense. Not a loud, barking laugh, but something low and bemused, almost demeaning, like the bear hadn’t expected him to be able to do any better. From anyone else, it would’ve been aggravating; from Jack, it made him feel small, but also safe. A feeling of relief for the fact that, even if he hadn’t been able to do as he was asked and felt bad about that, at least Jack wasn’t mad.

That did sound a bit simpering, when he thought about it like that. Then again, he’d been licking a man’s armpits a scant few minutes before and was now pissing himself with that same man’s cock lodged up his ass. If that didn’t make him simpering, then he was at a loss as to what word to use. Not that he minded, if it was Jack he was being simpering for.

Jack grabbed Nick’s sheath between two fingers and aimed it so that his stream was arcing right back towards himself, splattering across the front of his snout. His panting meant that most of it wound up hitting his tongue until Nick regained enough sense to pull it back into his muzzle and close his mouth, at which point Jack had adjusted his aim so that it was striking the middle of his chest, right in the centre of the ruff of white fur there.

“That’s it,” Jack rumbled, his free hand running through the ruff of fur on Nick’s chest even as the braixen soaked it, as if he wanted to make sure Nick did as thorough a job drenching himself as possible. “Can’t even hold your piss in, huh? Might as well sop it all up, then. Use that pretty fur of yours for something. Open your mouth.”

Nick didn’t hesitate: he closed his eyes and opened his jaw as wide as possible, lolling his tongue out to give Jack as big a target to aim for as possible. Jack made use of it, aiming the stream up so that it struck the braixen right at the entrance to his throat. He hadn’t been asked to, but Nick tilted his head back slightly so it pooled in his mouth. When Jack shifted his aim away, Nick shut his mouth and gulped it down.

It occurred to Nick that the taste of his own urine was far weaker compared to the almost overpowering potency of Jack’s. Weird that he was making a comparison like that, that he was even in a position where he [i]could[/i] make a comparison like that, but here he was. Weird as it was, it figured that he came out on the weaker end of the equation. The whole situation had him as the weak one: he was being made to drink his own piss, drench himself in it, all while being penetrated by the one in charge. Needless to say, Nick loved it, revelled in the feeling of being used and degraded.

“Look at that big, dopey smile,” Jack said, having shifted his aim so that Nick was spraying against his belly, urine running down to soak the fur around his waist—his skirt, Nick thought, the idea coming unbidden to his mind. “You love this, don’tcha? Can’t even punish you, y’love everything I do to you.”

Truth, truth, and nothing but truth. Nick couldn’t think of anything to say in response, didn’t know if he’d be able to get it out even if he could, and certainly wasn’t going to wipe the smile off his face when he loved what Jack was doing to him so much. So he just whined and shifted his weight slightly, managing to slide another inch down Jack’s cock, squeezing around it while he continued to unload his bladder all over himself.

Jack smirked and brought the hand he’d been running through Nick’s fur up to the braixen’s face. “Sick li’l freak,” he said, chuckling when Nick started licking his palm and fingers clean without even being asked.

As full as Nick’s bladder might’ve been, though, it wasn’t infinite. Eventually, he began running dry. The powerful stream that he’d started off with died down once again to a trickle, and Jack’s hand shifted jobs from aiming to just groping and squeezing at Nick’s package, soaking the whole thing in the last of his piss in the process. By the time Nick finally ran out of juice, he could feel the fur of his balls dripping with his own urine.

Then, that hand came up to Nick’s face, swapping places with the one already there. Nick let the fingers he’d finished licking clean slip free from his mouth with a pop, replaced by a new set that immediately started pressing on his tongue, smearing his taste buds with a fresh coat of his piss. Watery and weak, as he’d already established to himself, but that only served to further emphasize the lowness of his position.

“Fucking pig,” Jack growled, and Nick briefly feared that he’d somehow upset the great bear—until a great thrust brought the ursaring’s cock shooting up into his guts, and he realised about the same time as Jack’s balls swung up to slap against his that his utter depravity had simply excited the bear so much that he could no longer control himself.

Nick started sucking on the fingers in his mouth, gripping Jack’s arm tight to his chest for something to hold on to while the bear thrust in and out of his ass at full speed, no longer holding anything back. Precum squelched and squirted out of Nick’s ass and onto his tail with every buck of the bear’s hips, plain proof of just how ungodly productive Jack was. Nick had started to drip some of his own even as his cock struggled to harden in the face of the hard fucking he was receiving; he was only halfway out of his sheath, but his cock drooled thick globs of precumas they were battered directly out of his prostate, which smeared across his belly whenever the bear’s thrusts made his dick swing up and slap against it.

Jack, hungry for yet more of the braixen to play with, reached down and grabbed a hold of it. He was hardly the fan of the gentle reach-around; his methods were harsh and without regard for Nick’s pleasure, only for the wonderful yips and whines that came out of the braixen’s muzzle. His grip was painfully tight, enough that it almost felt like he was trying to keep Nick trapped in his sheath, occasionally shifting to either give Nick’s shaft a few tugs, reach down to grope at his balls, or clamp down in an even tighter squeeze.

It did nothing to hamper Nick’s enjoyment of the situation. He openly shivered in Jack’s arms, made no attempt to suppress the whines, yips, and moans he let out into the fingers jammed into his mouth. He knew that was what Jack wanted to hear. He wanted to hear how Nick could barely withstand how hard he was getting fucked, wanted to hear Nick reduced to a snivelling, quivering mess.

So Nick gave it to him, because that was what Nick wanted to [i]be[/i]. He didn’t want to mate; there was no way that sticking his knot in some female would ever be able to compare to this, a bigger, more virile male treating him like a piece of trash and fucking him so hard that his cock could only flop around half-hard in his sheath and dribble onto his stomach. He wanted to spend his days alternating between burying his face and ass in Jack’s lap. He wanted—

Nick let Jack’s fingers slip free from his mouth as he let out one of his loudest moans yet, body clenching down with vice tightness around the ursaring’s shaft. His own cock throbbed once, making one last drive towards erection, but found the fingers wrapped tight around it rendered that an impossibility. His orgasm came nonetheless, but with no force, the cum oozing out of him as it was squeezed out of his prostate by the force of Jack’s thrusts.

His squeezing was enough to force Jack over the edge. After a last few thrusts into Nick’s ass, made short and powerful to overcome the clenching of the braixen’s muscles and each one coaxing a thick glob of cum out of Nick’s cock, Jack came. He let out a deep, bassy moan of his own, then a powerful throb of his cock brought with it the first rope of the ursaring’s cum.

Nick felt it shoot deep into his guts, the wet heat of it inside him making his long, winding orgasm into something almost transcendental. That virile seed shooting into him in all the same quantity that he remembered from gulping it down on a previous visit, but given much greater weight now that it was being pumped into his ass. That cum soaking into his insides meant that he’d submitted to Jack, marked him as the ursaring’s bitch more than any amount of piss drinking could ever do. That thought kept him in pleasure even after his own orgasm winded down and all the way through the remainder of Jack’s own, whereupon he laid limp in Jack’s grip, feeling the warmth of the ursaring’s seed suffusing his insides while his own release dripped off the bear’s fingers.

“You did good, boy,” Jack said, giving Nick’s oversensitive cock one last squeeze to hear the squeak he made before releasing his grip and wiping his hand clean on Nick’s chest, smearing the already piss-soaked fur with cum. “That said, y’stink, and you’re making me stink. Howzabout we take a shower together?”

Idly stroking Jack’s bicep, Nick wondered if this was what love felt like.