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He could at least turn his brain off, here.
“Fuck, yes, Daddy!”
Pawbert’s flushed cock splattered trails across the dingy club floor as the polar bear—nobody bothered with names, like how Pawbert was an equally anonymous fuck—slammed the head of his thick, engorged shaft past the puckered rim of his hole.
“Hnnn…” Oh, that’s big, Pawbert gasped, drool trickling out the corner of his mouth, feeling his ears go flat against his head in utter, submissive bliss.
There was a growled grunt as Pawbert’s hole sucked firmly around the bear’s cock, resisting till the rim was white and stretched. The polar bear shifted his angle. He began shallowly rocking forward, using brute force until he slid past an internal ring of muscle with a wet shluck-pop. The whole length slammed all the way in, slick and dripping pre-come; Pawbert’s gray, fluffy stomach had bulged out in protest, distending to accommodate.
“Daddy, yes,” Pawbert breathlessly moaned, ears twitching. “Move, I need it!”
The position was humiliating: half his body eagerly stuck out of a wall for the bear, showing off his small, leaky cock and ass on display like a prize. Hot shame, mixed with undeniable arousal, sparked in Pawbert’s gut as every powerful slam of the polar bear’s hips had him clawing at his platform for air. He was powerless. The wet smack of the bear’s heavy balls against his shaking lower half was more than enough proof.
A real Lynxley would never stoop this low. Would never whore themselves out like a cheap, rabbit hooker. Lynxleys would never let other animals fuck them. They were the ones who called for whores into their rooms, deals done discreetly in private.
But here, nobody knew Pawbert was a Lynxley, and nobody knew about his expectations. Nobody cared.
“Yes! Yes—fuck, fuck me, Daddy!” Pawbert’s head threw back. He was moving in tandem—front, punching out a moan as the cock slowly drew back—with every powerful thrust, his tiny prostate swelling and abused by the impossibly large cock in him. “Daddy, tell me I’ve been good, praise me—!”
His tongue lolled out. The walls were thin enough for the bear to hear him. Pawbert received a violent smack on the ass. The paw was large enough to cover his entire cheek, and his hips weakly jerked in shock, a tiny moan of delirious pleasure escaping him.
“You talk too much for a slut,” came the polar bear’s gravelly sneer, speeding up his thrusts till Pawbert’s only words were a slurry of ‘ah, ah, fuck—!’ and ‘yes, Daddy, yes!’es. “Tighten up, kitty.”
Hot, sticky come flooded into Pawbert’s puffy hole. He was too small to hold the load. Pearls of it oozed out his straining rim and dripped all over his thighs, trailing to the floor in wet, thick globules, and the bear’s cock pulsed directly against his prostate as he was filled, sending Pawbert across the edge.
He cried out, pathetically whimpering, “Daddy, thank you,” as his orgasm rolled through him. Pawbert’s useless, pink cock twitched violently as he spurted small ropes of white across the ground. When the polar bear slid out, the lewd popping sound came with the flutter of air rushing into Pawbert’s gaping hole, bubbling semen and puffing small breaths of air as it tried to close around nothingness.
He felt the polar bear leave, but another mammal was in line for sloppy seconds. Maybe thirds; even fourths. Pawbert had signed up for a long night.
A rough, heavy tongue probed his hole, slurping the come out of his walls with obscene noises. The flat bristles on the tongue signaled to Pawbert it was a feline’s turn, and his spent cock twitched in response.
The words left him brainlessly: “Please, Daddy, fuck your good boy.”
And the response from the other side, if Pawbert pretended hard enough, almost sounded like his father’s ice-cold approval.