Chapter 3: Night terrors
The stale taste of sleep clung to Arthur’s mouth. A dull throb pulsed behind his eyes, a leftover ache from the previous night’s brutal, bewildering overload. He shifted under the thin sheet, the rough cotton scraping his oversensitive skin. His cock felt tender, raw, a spent husk nestled limply against his thigh. He groaned softly, burying his face deeper into the single, lumpy pillow Fritz had deemed ‘prison-grade’. Silence. Blessed, empty silence. Maybe Fritz was finally sleeping. Maybe—
A low vibration hummed against his hip. Then warmth. Wetness. Encircling him.
Arthur froze, breath catching. Disbelief warred with the immediate, traitorous spark igniting deep in his gut. No. Not again. Not so soon. But the sensation was undeniable. Soft, insistent pressure. A slick, hot cavern engulfing the head of his cock. Gentle suction, pulling him back from utter softness into a reluctant, aching semi-hardness.
He squeezed his eyes shut tighter, willing it to be a dream. A cruel, hypersensitive dream born of exhaustion and Fritz’s relentless torment. But the wet heat intensified. A tongue, broad and surprisingly smooth, unlike the rough texture he remembered from Fritz’s mouth last night, lapped firmly at his slit. A low, rumbling purr vibrated directly through his shaft, resonating into his pelvis.
Arthur gasped, his hips jerking involuntarily upwards, seeking more of that impossible, torturous friction. The sheet was yanked down, cool air hitting his bare chest. He blinked, bleary-eyed, into the dim morning light filtering through the dusty blinds.
Fritz. Of course. Perched between Arthur’s legs, sleek black fur gleaming like oil in the gloom. His muscular shoulders bunched, head lowered, those piercing green eyes glancing up, meeting Arthur’s dazed stare. There was no warmth in them. Only sharp, predatory amusement. His lips were stretched obscenely wide around Arthur’s thickening cock, his pink tongue visible as it pressed flat against the underside, stroking upwards with deliberate, maddening slowness.
"Mmhmm," Fritz hummed around him, the sound vibrating deliciously. He pulled off with a soft, wet pop, leaving Arthur’s cock glistening and exposed, twitching pathetically in the cool air. Fritz licked his chops, a slow, deliberate swipe of his pink tongue. "Morning, Master," he purred, his voice thick with sleep and malice. "Sleep well? Dream of me?" He leaned forward again, not taking Arthur back into his mouth, but instead running the flat of his tongue from base to tip in one long, lingering, filthy stroke. Arthur cried out, back arching off the mattress.
"F-Fritz… stop…" Arthur gasped, the plea weak, undermined by the way his hips were still straining upwards, chasing that tongue. "Too… too sensitive…"
"Too sensitive?" Fritz chuckled, a dark, rich sound. He blew a cool stream of air over Arthur’s wet cockhead, making him whimper. "Bullshit." He dipped his head again, this time taking just the swollen head between his lips, sucking lightly, teasingly, his tongue flicking rapidly over the slit. "You love it. Look at you." He gestured with his chin towards Arthur’s straining erection, now fully hard despite the protestations, jutting obscenely from his groin. "Begging cock. Always ready." He sucked harder, hollowing his cheeks, drawing a choked moan from Arthur. "Taste good, Arthur. Like shame and cheap soap." He pulled off again, saliva stringing between his lips and Arthur’s cock. "Want more?"
Arthur couldn’t speak. He could only nod frantically, his hands fisting the sheets, his entire world narrowed to the wet heat hovering inches from his aching flesh. Shame warred with a desperate, clawing need. Fritz grinned, baring sharp white teeth for a second. "Good boy."
He engulfed Arthur completely this time, sinking down until Arthur’s cockhead nudged the back of his throat. Arthur shouted, the sudden, overwhelming heat and pressure almost too much. Fritz began to move, bobbing his head with ruthless efficiency. No teasing now. Deep, rhythmic strokes, his nose pressing into Arthur’s pubic hair with each descent. His throat muscles worked, massaging the shaft, creating a suction that felt like it was pulling Arthur’s soul out through his cock. One furred hand gripped Arthur’s hip, claws pricking lightly, holding him down, while the other reached beneath to cup Arthur’s balls, rolling them firmly in a warm, possessive palm.
"Fuck! Fritz! Oh god!" Arthur babbled, thrashing his head side to side on the pillow. The sensations were volcanic, building far too fast, amplified a thousandfold by the lingering sensitivity and the sheer, degrading intimacy of being woken this way. Fritz’s green eyes watched him, unblinking, as he sucked, a silent dare. The pressure in Arthur’s balls coiled, tight and urgent. He could feel it gathering, unstoppable. "Gonna… Fritz, I’m gonna cum!" he gasped, trying to push Fritz away, but the grip on his hip was iron.
Fritz didn’t slow. He sucked harder, faster, his purr intensifying into a deep, resonant growl that vibrated straight up Arthur’s spine. He locked eyes with Arthur, a challenge burning in those green depths. Do it.
Arthur came with a ragged, broken cry. His hips bucked wildly, held down only by Fritz’s strength. Thick pulses of cum shot deep into Fritz’s throat. Arthur felt the swallow, the powerful convulsion, then another, Fritz drinking him down relentlessly, his throat working, his eyes never leaving Arthur’s face. The intensity was blinding, wiping out thought, leaving only raw, shuddering sensation. Arthur collapsed back, panting, utterly spent, his cock still twitching weakly in Fritz’s mouth as the feline finished sucking him clean with soft, obscene noises.
Fritz finally pulled off, licking his lips meticulously. A single pearl of white glistened at the corner of his mouth before his pink tongue darted out to retrieve it. He looked down at Arthur, sprawled and wrecked, a satisfied smirk playing on his muzzle. "Breakfast," he declared, his voice slightly roughened.
Arthur could only stare, dazed, his body humming with aftershocks. He felt hollowed out, used. Fritz shifted, kneeling up. He wasn’t done. Arthur saw the thick, dark length of Fritz’s own erection springing free from the fur at his groin. It was impressive, flushed and heavy, the tip already slick with pre-cum. Fritz gripped the base, giving it a few slow, deliberate strokes, his eyes fixed on Arthur’s face.
"Your turn," Fritz purred, the smirk widening into something dangerous. "Open wide, Master."
Panic flared through Arthur’s exhaustion. "N-no… Fritz, please… I can’t…" The memory of Fritz’s size, the sheer dominance of it, was terrifying.
"Didn’t ask," Fritz stated flatly. He shuffled forward on his knees, his powerful thighs bracketing Arthur’s shoulders. The musky, animal scent of Fritz’s arousal filled Arthur’s nostrils, thick and primal. The broad, slick head of Fritz’s cock bumped against Arthur’s lips. "Open. Or I force it."
The threat was real. Arthur whimpered, the sound muffled against the hot flesh pressing insistently. He opened his mouth, just a fraction. Fritz didn’t hesitate. He pushed forward, the thick crown spreading Arthur’s lips wide, stretching them uncomfortably. Arthur gagged reflexively as the head breached his mouth, hitting the back of his throat. Tears sprang to his eyes.
"Relax," Fritz commanded, his voice tight with his own need. He pushed deeper, forcing Arthur’s jaws wider, the stretch burning. Arthur choked, saliva flooding his mouth as Fritz’s cock invaded, thick and unyielding, filling him, pressing down on his tongue. Fritz groaned, a deep, rumbling sound of pleasure. "Yeah… tight fucking hole…" He pulled back slightly, then thrust forward again, deeper this time, the head nudging Arthur’s soft palate. Arthur gagged violently, tears streaming down his temples.
Fritz didn’t stop. He set a relentless pace, short, sharp thrusts that fucked Arthur’s mouth with brutal efficiency. His claws dug into Arthur’s scalp, holding his head immobile. Arthur couldn’t breathe through his nose; Fritz’s groin blocked it. He gasped desperately around the thick intrusion whenever Fritz pulled back slightly, only to have his breath stolen again by the next thrust. Saliva dripped down his chin, mixed with pre-cum. The taste was musky, salty, overwhelmingly male. He felt like he was drowning, suffocating on Fritz’s cock.
"Take it," Fritz growled, hips pistoning faster. His balls slapped against Arthur’s chin. "Swallow that fucking cock, Arthur. That’s all you’re good for." His thrusts became harder, deeper, losing rhythm, driven by his own rising climax. Arthur’s throat convulsed around the invading flesh, trying to accommodate, trying not to choke. Fritz’s breathing hitched. "Fuck! Gonna fill that slut mouth…" He slammed deep, hilting himself completely, grinding his pubic fur against Arthur’s nose. Arthur felt the hot, thick pulses erupting directly down his throat, flooding it, impossible to swallow fast enough. Some spilled out around the stretched lips, dripping onto his chest.
Fritz held himself there, shuddering, emptying himself into Arthur’s violated mouth. Finally, he pulled out with a wet, sucking sound. Arthur collapsed sideways, coughing violently, gasping for air, strings of saliva and cum connecting his lips to Fritz’s softening cock. He wiped frantically at his mouth with the back of his hand, tears still leaking.
Fritz looked down at him, panting slightly, a look of pure, satiated contempt on his feline face. He wiped the tip of his cock casually on the rumpled sheet beside Arthur’s head. "Clean yourself up," he ordered, his voice back to its usual bored drawl. He swung his legs off the bed, padding naked towards the bedroom door. "And make coffee. Strong." The door clicked shut behind him.
Arthur lay trembling on the sweat-damp sheets, the taste of Fritz thick in his mouth, the ache in his jaw a brutal reminder. The hollow ache inside him felt deeper than ever, filled now not with loneliness, but with a terrifying, degrading intimacy he hadn't known he could crave. He stared at the ceiling, the silence of the apartment pressing in, broken only by his own ragged breaths and the distant sound of Fritz running water in the sink.
The stale taste of Fritz lingered on Arthur’s tongue, a bitter musk mixed with shame. He lay unmoving, his jaw aching, the phantom pressure of that thick cock still stretching his throat. Down the hall, the sink faucet stopped. Silence, thick and heavy, settled back over the apartment. He couldn't stay here, curled in the wreckage of his sheets. Coffee. He needed coffee, something scorching and bitter to scour his mouth, his mind.
With a groan that felt ripped from his bruised core, Arthur pushed himself upright. His limbs trembled. He avoided the mirror above the dresser, unwilling to confront the wreckage reflected there – the tear-streaks, the raw lips, the hollow eyes. Fritz’s scent clung to him, musky and invasive. He pulled on yesterday’s discarded trousers, the fabric rough against his oversensitive skin, the damp spot from his first morning orgasm cold and stiff. He didn't bother with underwear or a shirt. Modesty felt absurd now.
The kitchenette was cramped, dominated by a chipped Formica counter and a cheap drip coffee maker. The scent of old grounds mingled unpleasantly with Fritz’s lingering musk. Arthur filled the carafe with water, his hands shaking slightly. He scooped cheap, pre-ground coffee into the filter basket, the mechanical action a frail anchor to routine. Click. He pressed the brew button. The machine gurgled to life, a comforting, mundane sound in the charged silence.
He leaned heavily against the counter, staring blankly at the dark liquid beginning to drip into the glass carafe. Steam rose, carrying the promise of bitter solace. He focused on that, the simple ritual. His ass was pressed against the counter's edge, a dull pressure. He closed his eyes, trying to will away the lingering tremors of overstimulation, the phantom ache in his throat, the terrifying echo of Fritz’s guttural groans.
He didn't hear the soft pad of furred feet. The first warning was a warm, humid breath ghosting over the small of his back, right above his sagging waistband. Arthur froze, the coffee's hiss suddenly loud in his ears. Before he could react, calloused fingers – claws retracted but still firm – hooked into the back of his trousers and underwear. They were yanked down in one brutal motion, pooling around his ankles, exposing his pale, vulnerable ass to the cool kitchen air.
"Christ!" Arthur gasped, instinctively trying to straighten, to cover himself.
A low chuckle vibrated against his skin. Fritz’s large, furred hands clamped onto Arthur’s hips, fingers digging in, holding him immobile, bent slightly forward over the counter. "Morning ritual," Fritz purred, his voice thick with intent. "Needs improvement." Arthur’s heart hammered against his ribs. He braced himself for pain, for more degradation. What came instead was shocking, intimate, and utterly filthy.
Fritz didn't hesitate. His broad, hot tongue, wet and startlingly rough like fine-grit sandpaper, lapped a long, deliberate strip from the base of Arthur’s balls, up the sensitive cleft of his ass, directly over his tightly clenched hole. Arthur cried out, a strangled sound of pure shock, his knuckles white where he gripped the counter edge. The sensation was electric, invasive, utterly unexpected. Fritz’s tongue pressed firmly, insistently, circling the tight pucker, probing the resistant muscle.
"Oh fuck! Fritz! Stop! What are you—" Arthur’s protest dissolved into a guttural moan as Fritz’s tongue flattened, applying broader pressure, then stiffened into a rigid point. It pushed. Arthur gasped, his body instinctively tightening, fighting the intrusion. Fritz growled against his skin, a vibration that traveled straight to Arthur’s groin. The tongue pressed harder, relentless, wet and insistent. With a shuddering gasp, Arthur felt his body yield. The tip of Fritz’s tongue breached him, sliding just past the tight ring of muscle.
Heat. Wet, probing heat invaded a place untouched, private. Fritz hummed, the vibration intensifying the sensation deep inside Arthur’s core. He worked his tongue deliberately, spearing into that clenching heat, fucking him shallowly with the thick muscle. It was obscene, degrading in its intimacy, yet Arthur felt a treacherous coil of arousal tightening low in his belly. His cock, despite the recent brutal emptying, began to stir, thickening against the cold Formica counter. Fritz licked deeper, swirling, exploring, his nose buried in the crease of Arthur’s ass. The sounds were filthy: wet slurps, low purrs, Arthur’s own choked whimpers.
"Tastes like fear," Fritz murmured, his voice muffled against Arthur’s skin. He pulled his tongue out slowly, leaving Arthur feeling suddenly empty, exposed, then plunged it back in with more force. "And cheap soap. Open wider, bitch. Take it." Arthur shuddered, his legs trembling. He tried to focus on the coffee dripping, the mundane clink of the glass carafes, but Fritz’s tongue was relentless, demanding, claiming. He felt the rough texture rasping inside him, a sensation both alien and electrifying. His cock was fully hard now, trapped between his stomach and the counter, leaking pre-cum onto the cool surface. Fritz’s hands tightened on his hips, dragging him back harder onto that invading tongue. "Yeah… fucking greedy hole. Knew you needed this."
Abruptly, Fritz pulled his tongue free. Arthur gasped at the sudden emptiness. Before he could process, Fritz was moving. Still bent over the counter, Arthur felt the furred warmth of Fritz’s body press against the backs of his legs. A hand snaked around his hip, calloused fingers wrapping firmly around Arthur’s aching, neglected cock. Fritz gave it a rough, possessive stroke from root to tip, his thumb grinding over the slick head.
"Go on," Fritz commanded, his breath hot on Arthur’s shoulder. "Make the fucking coffee." He began to pump Arthur’s cock in a tight, demanding rhythm, his grip slightly too rough, mimicking the crude urgency of Arthur’s own lonely masturbation sessions. Simultaneously, he leaned forward again, his tongue plunging back into Arthur’s ass, fucking him deep with wet, rhythmic strokes. The dual assault was overwhelming – the rough hand jerking his cock, the wet, insistent tongue spearing his ass – a dizzying assault on both ends.
Arthur whimpered, his body convulsing between the sensations. He fumbled blindly for the coffee filter basket, his vision blurring. He managed to lift it, grounds spilling slightly, his movements jerky and uncoordinated. The coffee continued to drip, the rich aroma clashing violently with the musk of his own sweat and Fritz’s intimate assault. Fritz’s hand worked him faster, twisting on the upstroke, squeezing the head. His tongue fucked deeper, rougher, the slick sounds impossibly loud.
"That’s it," Fritz growled, punctuating his words with a sharp thrust of his tongue. "Be a good little slut. Make your master’s coffee while I fuck your holes." Arthur moaned, a broken sound lost in the kitchen’s din. His hips bucked helplessly, fucking forward into Fritz’s tight fist, pushing back onto that relentless tongue. The coil in his gut wound unbearably tight, pleasure spiraling out from the two points of intense, conflicting sensation. He dropped the used filter into the bin, grounds scattering, his hands shaking violently.
The climax tore through him without warning. It wasn’t the shattering release of before, but a deep, convulsive pulse that seemed to wrench itself from his core. "F-Fritz! Oh fuck! Cumming!" he choked, back arching. Thick spurts shot from his cock, splattering hot stripes across the Formica counter and the front of the coffee maker. Fritz’s hand kept pumping, milking him ruthlessly, while his tongue pressed deep inside him, vibrating with a low purr that seemed to resonate in Arthur’s very bones.
Arthur sagged forward, gasping, his forehead pressed to the cool counter, sticky with his own release. Fritz slowly withdrew his tongue, a final lick tracing the abused rim before pulling away. He released Arthur’s spent cock, giving it a dismissive pat. Arthur felt the warmth of Fritz’s body shift away.
He stayed slumped over the counter, trembling, the sharp scent of semen and coffee grounds filling his nostrils. Behind him, he heard the soft thunk of the cupboard door. Fritz’s voice, laced with dark amusement, cut through the post-orgasmic haze. "Cup’s chipped. Hope you don’t mind." The sound of coffee pouring followed, rich and dark. Fritz stepped back into Arthur’s blurred peripheral vision. He held a steaming mug, took a slow sip, his green eyes fixed on Arthur’s debauched form, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. "Still warm. Good boy."
The sticky counter cooled beneath Arthur’s cheek. Fritz’s mocking praise echoed, sharp as shattered glass. He pushed himself upright, legs trembling, trousers still tangled around his ankles. Fritz lounged against the fridge, sipping coffee, green eyes gleaming with predatory amusement. Arthur yanked his trousers up, the rough fabric scraping his oversensitive skin, humiliation a hot coal in his gut. He didn’t look at Fritz. He couldn’t. He grabbed a dishrag, scrubbing furiously at the drying streaks of his own cum marring the Formica. The sharp scent of bleach fought against musk and coffee grounds.
The day unfolded like a slow-motion nightmare. Fritz was a whirlwind of calculated annoyance. He knocked Arthur’s meticulously organized tax files onto the floor, scattering papers with a dismissive flick of his tail. "Clutter," he sniffed, stepping over the mess. He demanded specific, obscure brands of kibble Arthur couldn’t afford, complaining loudly about the ‘sawdust’ substitute. "Pathetic," he muttered, pushing the bowl away untouched. He cranked the television volume to ear-splitting levels during Arthur’s scheduled quiet reading time, blaring a garish game show. "Bored," Fritz declared, sprawling across the worn plaid couch, tail twitching like a metronome of disdain. He criticized Arthur’s posture, his thinning hair, the drab grey of his worn sweater. "Try colour, Master. Might distract from the despair." Each barb landed, chipping away at Arthur’s frayed composure. The hollow ache Fritz was supposed to fill now pulsed with a different kind of need – a simmering, resentful fury.
Arthur endured. He picked up the papers. He offered different kibble. He turned the TV down, only for Fritz to immediately crank it higher. He clenched his jaw, biting back retorts, the accountant’s ingrained control warring with a rising tide of outrage. Fritz’s smirk widened with each silent victory. The feline stretched languidly on the couch, the sleek black fur of his belly exposed, utterly at ease in his reign of irritation. He flipped channels restlessly, the flickering light playing over his muscular form. Arthur watched him from the kitchen doorway, the dishrag clenched tight in his fist. The memory of Fritz’s tongue spearing him, the degrading command to make coffee while being violated, burned fresh. The fury crystallized, cold and sharp. Payback.
Arthur moved silently, padding across the worn carpet. Fritz didn’t glance up, engrossed in a loud commercial. Arthur stopped beside the couch. Fritz’s legs were spread slightly, the dense black fur thinning towards his groin. Arthur’s heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the blaring TV. He didn’t hesitate. He sank to his knees beside the couch. Fritz finally looked down, a bored eyebrow arched. "What now, Mas—"
Arthur’s hand shot out. Not towards Fritz’s cock, but lower. His fingers, still smelling faintly of bleach, pushed firmly through the dense fur between Fritz’s thighs, seeking the hidden warmth beneath. He found it – the tight, furled pucker, surprisingly soft and hot. Fritz froze. A flicker of something utterly unfamiliar flashed in his green eyes – not anger, not mockery, but pure, startled shock. Before Fritz could react, Arthur pressed his middle finger firmly against the tight ring. He pushed. Fritz gasped, a sharp, involuntary intake of breath. His body tensed, muscles coiling beneath the fur. Arthur pushed harder, feeling the incredible heat, the resistant muscle yielding reluctantly. With a soft, wet sound, his fingertip breached Fritz.
Fritz’s entire body jerked. A strangled sound escaped him, half-growl, half-moan. His claws dug into the worn couch fabric, shredding it slightly. Arthur held his finger inside, feeling the clenching, pulsing heat enveloping him. Fritz was rigid, trembling slightly, his eyes wide, fixed unseeingly on the blaring TV. Arthur slowly withdrew his finger, then pushed back in, deeper this time, past the first knuckle. Fritz whimpered. An actual whimper. The sound sent a jolt of fierce satisfaction through Arthur. He crooked his finger slightly, probing inward. Fritz’s hips bucked upwards off the couch cushion, a ragged groan tearing from his throat. "F-fuck!" he gasped, his voice stripped of its usual arrogance, raw and shaky.
Arthur added a second finger. Fritz cried out, arching his back, his cock springing fully erect, thick and dark against his belly fur. "Arthur! Stop—" The protest died as Arthur scissored his fingers gently, stretching him. Fritz’s head thrashed side to side on the cushion, his breathing coming in harsh pants. "Oh god… oh fuck…" he moaned, the words dissolving into incoherent gasps. Arthur worked his fingers deeper, curling them, searching. He found it – a firm, walnut-sized bump just inside. He pressed the pads of his fingers against it firmly. Fritz screamed. His body convulsed violently, back bowing impossibly high off the couch. Thick ropes of cum erupted from his cock, pulsing hot stripes across his own furred stomach and chest, splattering onto the couch fabric below. His muscles clamped down viscously around Arthur’s fingers as he came, shuddering through wave after wave of intense, involuntary release, his cries echoing the tinny laughter from the television.
Arthur slowly withdrew his fingers, slick with Fritz’s internal heat. Fritz collapsed back onto the couch, boneless, panting heavily, eyes glazed, chest heaving, fur matted with his own spend. A stunned silence hung in the air, thick and charged, broken only by Fritz’s ragged breaths and the oblivious TV. Arthur watched him, the fierce satisfaction cooling into something sharper, more dangerous. Fritz blinked, slowly regaining focus. He looked down at the mess on his fur, then up at Arthur. The shock in his eyes morphed, not into anger, but into something hotter, more challenging. A slow, dangerous smirk spread across his muzzle, despite his spent state. "Clever… accountant," he breathed, his voice still rough.
Then Fritz moved. Fast. He surged up from the couch, ignoring the cooling cum on his fur. He grabbed Arthur’s shoulders, pushing him backwards until his knees hit the low coffee table stacked with unread magazines. Arthur stumbled, landing hard on his ass on the cluttered surface, magazines sliding to the floor. Fritz was on him instantly, straddling Arthur’s lap, pinning him against the table’s edge. His green eyes burned inches from Arthur’s, intense, predatory, but lacking the earlier cruelty. "Think you won?" Fritz growled, low and husky. He leaned down, his muzzle brushing Arthur’s ear. "Round two, Master." Before Arthur could react, Fritz dipped his head. His rough tongue, still carrying the faint musk of Arthur’s own ass from earlier, flicked out, licking a hot, wet stripe across Arthur’s left nipple.
Arthur gasped, jolting as the unexpected sensation shot straight to his groin. His cock, already stirring from the power shift and Fritz’s proximity, hardened instantly. "Fritz—" Fritz ignored him, focusing intently. He closed his lips around the pebbled nub, sucking firmly, his tongue swirling roughly. Arthur cried out, arching into the mouth, the dual sensation of suction and rasping texture overwhelming. Fritz switched to the other nipple, biting down gently with sharp teeth before sucking hard, drawing another ragged moan from Arthur. His cock strained painfully against his trousers, trapped between their bodies. Fritz pulled back, leaving Arthur’s nipples wet, swollen, throbbing. He looked down at the obvious bulge tenting Arthur’s trousers, then back up at Arthur’s flushed face. His smirk returned, feral and knowing. "Still eager," he purred.
Fritz leaned in again, but this time his target wasn’t Arthur’s chest. His muzzle closed the distance. His lips, surprisingly soft despite the sharp teeth behind them, pressed firmly against Arthur’s. It wasn't gentle. It was claiming. Fritz kissed him hard, tongue demanding entry. Arthur opened his mouth with a groan, meeting the invasion. The taste was musky, salty, uniquely Fritz – a blend of his own release and something wild and feline. Fritz’s tongue tangled fiercely with Arthur’s, a hot, wet duel. Arthur kissed back with equal ferocity, fueled by the day’s humiliation, the power of his retaliation, and the raw, undeniable arousal Fritz always ignited. Fritz’s hands slid down Arthur’s chest, claws pricking lightly, then gripped Arthur’s hips. He ground his own furred groin, still slick with drying cum, hard against Arthur’s trapped erection.
The friction through the fabric was maddening. Arthur tore his mouth away, gasping. "Fuck… Fritz… need…" Fritz growled, low and urgent. His hands flew to Arthur’s waistband, yanking trousers and boxers down in one violent motion. Arthur’s cock sprang free, thick and flushed, weeping pre-cum. Fritz didn’t pause. He shoved his own trousers down just enough to free his cock, already half-hard again, dark and glistening. He grabbed both their shafts in one large, furred hand, his grip tight and demanding. Their cocks pressed together, hot skin against hot skin, slick with pre-cum and Fritz’s earlier release. Fritz began to stroke them together, a rough, fast rhythm, his calloused palm and fur creating an intense, almost painful friction.
"Oh god!" Arthur choked out, his hips bucking uncontrollably upwards into the tight tunnel of Fritz’s fist. The sensation was overwhelming – the heat, the pressure, the slide of his own cock against Fritz’s thicker one, the rasp of fur against his sensitive skin. Fritz kissed him again, deep and possessive, muffling Arthur’s cries. His strokes became frantic, jerking their cocks together brutally. Arthur could feel Fritz’s cock hardening fully against his own, pulsing hotly. The coil in Arthur’s gut wound impossibly tight, pleasure white-hot and blinding. Fritz broke the kiss, panting harshly against Arthur’s mouth, his green eyes blazing. "Cum with me… Arthur… now!" he commanded, his voice ragged with his own impending climax.
The command, the raw need in Fritz’s voice, the intense friction – it detonated Arthur. He threw his head back with a guttural roar as his orgasm ripped through him, thick spurts pulsing hot between their pressed bodies, coating Fritz’s furred fist and their tangled cocks. Fritz followed instantly, his own roar echoing Arthur’s as his cock jerked violently against Arthur’s, adding fresh, hot ropes of cum to the mess splattering Arthur’s stomach and thighs. Fritz kept stroking them ruthlessly through the aftershocks, milking every last drop, the wet, slick sounds loud in the sudden silence as the TV flickered to a commercial break. They slumped together, panting harshly, foreheads pressed together, sticky and spent atop the scattered magazines on the coffee table. Fritz’s hand finally stilled, resting possessively on their joined, softening cocks. He let out a low, rumbling chuckle, breath warm on Arthur’s skin. "Told you… round two." Fritz purred, his voice low and smug as he pulled back slightly, his fingers still lazily stroking their joined, softening cocks. His green eyes danced, a mischievous glint in their depths. He released his grip on their cocks, letting the slick, cooling mess slide between them. Arthur’s breath hitched as Fritz shifted, his hips moving sensually against Arthur’s, his muscular body rubbing provocatively against Arthur’s sensitized skin. A wicked smirk played on his lips as he leaned down, his breath hot and scented with his own musk against Arthur’s ear. "Time to take what’s yours, Master."
Arthur’s heart leapt, hope and desire surging. He reached for Fritz, his hands gripping the feline’s hips, eager to pull him closer, to feel the heat of him around his cock.
But Fritz had other plans. With a deft twist, he wriggled free, his muscular body shifting until he was straddling Arthur’s thighs, his ass just out of reach. Arthur groaned in frustration, his cock still slick and eager. But Fritz merely chuckled, low and sultry, his green eyes gleaming with mischief. He looked back at Arthur over his shoulder, his tail swishing lazily, teasing. "Not yet, Master," Fritz purred. "First, you make me want it." With that, he began to move, his hips swaying, his ass shifting in a provocative, deliberate rhythm. He pressed back against Arthur’s cock, not taking him in, but grinding against him, teasing him with the promise of heat and pressure.
Fritz’s hips moved faster, his ass twerking against Arthur’s straining erection, each impact sending a jolt of pleasure through Arthur’s sensitive skin. He clenched his fingers into Fritz’s fur, groaning, desperate for more. Fritz chuckled, a low, wicked sound, then moved suddenly, swiftly flipping over onto his back, opening his legs wide. He spread himself, giving Arthur a full view of his tight, puckered hole, still slick with their shared release.
Arthur’s breath hitched in his throat. He looked at Fritz, expecting a command, a smirk, some indication of what to do next. But Fritz simply looked back at him, his green eyes heavy-lidded, his body already shifting restlessly, needing. He extended a paw, claws retracted, and beckoned. "Come on, accountant.
Show me what you’ve got." Fritz’s green eyes challenged, his tail swishing lazily, teasing Arthur. He spread himself wider, arching his back slightly, the slick, puckered hole pulsing invitingly. Arthur hesitated only a moment, then he moved, eager to prove himself, to claim what Fritz had offered. He gripped Fritz’s hips, his fingers sinking into the dense black fur, and pulled him closer. Fritz’s breath caught, a low gasp as Arthur’s face neared his heat. He leaned in, his heart pounding, the rich scent of Fritz filling his senses. He hesitated only a moment, then his tongue darted out, tentative, tracing the slick, musky fur surrounding Fritz’s hole. Fritz groaned, his hips jerking slightly, his body already arching, eager for more.
Arthur, emboldened by the response, dove in, his tongue spearing Fritz’s slick, tight hole. Fritz gasped, his muscles clenching as Arthur’s tongue delved deeper, licking and probing. He grabbed a handful of Arthur’s hair, his grip firm, guiding Arthur’s movements. "Yeah… right there… just like that," he moaned, his voice thick with pleasure. Arthur obliged, his tongue working steadily, seeking out the sensitive spots he’d discovered earlier. Fritz’s hips began to move, fucking Arthur’s face with slow, deliberate thrusts. The sound of their bodies, the wet sucking noises, the low, hungry moans filling the room, sent a bolt of arousal straight to Arthur’s cock. He groaned, his hips lifting involuntarily, his cock seeking friction against the coffee table’s edge.
"Fuck… Fritz… close…" Arthur panted, his tongue working Fritz’s tight, clenching hole with increased fervor. Fritz’s grip on Arthur’s hair tightened, his hips fucking faster, his body tensing, bones shifting beneath the dense black fur. "Oh fuck… yeah… Arthur… right there…" Fritz gasped, his voice ragged, breaths coming in sharp, hungry pants. He tossed his head back, his eyes clamped shut, his muzzle open in a silent scream. His body suddenly convulsed, a violent, pulsing orgasm ripping through him. Fritz's cock jerked, thick ropes of cum spurting from the tip, coating his furred stomach and chest in fresh, hot stripes.
Arthur continued to lap at his spent hole, his tongue swirling, seeking to draw out every last drop of his release. Fritz's breath slowly returned to normal, his body gradually relaxing as he came down from the intense orgasm. He leaned back, his head lolling to the side, a contented purr rumbling in his chest. Arthur pulled back, a sense of accomplishment filling him. He looked up at Fritz, expecting to see the same smug grin he'd worn earlier. But instead, Fritz merely yawned, a wide, jaw-cracking stretch that revealed his sharp teeth. "Whew… that was… something else," he murmured, his voice more relaxed than Arthur had ever heard it. He yawned again, stretching languidly, his muscles moving with a lazy fluidity.
Arthur watched him, a soft smile playing on his lips.
But as Fritz’s yawns grew more frequent, Arthur’s smile faded. "You’re tired," he observed, his voice gentle, tinged with concern. Fritz merely hummed noncommittally, his eyes beginning to droop. Arthur shifted slightly, the coffee table’s edge digging into his side. He looked longingly towards his own bed, hidden behind the closed door of his bedroom, envisioning the soft comfort of his mattress. Fritz, as if reading his thoughts, abruptly sat up, his eyes suddenly sharp, the languid post-orgasmic haze vanished. "
"You know, I’ve had quite the day," Fritz remarked, his voice casual, but with a hint of steel. "I think I’ll turn in early. You don’t mind, do you?" Before Arthur could respond, Fritz had already moved, his sleek black form padding swiftly across the room. He stopped at the bedroom door, shot a sly glance back at Arthur, and then stepped inside, shutting the door firmly behind him. Arthur heard the faint click of a lock engaging, followed by the soft rustle of Fritz settling into his bed.
Arthur stared at the closed door, a mixture of surprise and irritation warring within him. "Seriously?" he muttered, disbelief coloring his voice. He glanced around the cluttered living room, the scattered magazines and broken coffee cup a stark reminder of the chaotic day.