Gregory the Charmingly Hedonistic Eevee

The autumn sun filtered through the tall, arched windows of Johoto Ridge University’s central engineering hall, casting elongated golden beams across the polished oak floors. Gregory adjusted the strap of his weathered canvas backpack, the fabric slightly frayed at the edges from years of carrying heavy textbooks and notebooks filled with meticulous sketches. He was an anthro Eevee in his third year, standing at a solid 5′8" with a physique honed by both disciplined study and consistent physical training. His fur was a rich, warm chestnut brown that caught the light with subtle auburn undertones, meticulously groomed but never ostentatious. Short, neatly styled dark brown hair framed his face in soft layers that fell just above his dark brown eyes—eyes that held a quiet intensity, the kind that suggested someone who observed the world not just to see it, but to understand and improve it. His long and pointed ears, expressive and mobile, twitched occasionally at the ambient chatter of the hallway, while his bushy tail swayed with a measured rhythm behind him, betraying neither haste nor hesitation.

Gregory was the embodiment of quiet determination. Engineering had called to him since childhood, when he’d spent hours in his family’s modest workshop disassembling old appliances and reassembling them with clever modifications. Now, at Johoto Ridge, he pursued a mechanical engineering major with a minor in robotics, driven by a vision of creating sustainable technologies that could bridge the gap between the natural world and the rapidly advancing pokemorph societies. He wasn’t the loudest in the lecture halls or the flashiest on the campus quad, but his presence was steady and reliable, like a well-calibrated machine.

That particular morning began like many others. Gregory rose before dawn in his off-campus apartment—a small but organized space filled with shelves of textbooks, half-built prototypes on his desk, and a dedicated corner for his workout gear. He brewed a strong cup of herbal tea (chamomile with a hint of ginger for focus), reviewed his notes from the previous day’s thermodynamics lecture, and completed a quick series of bodyweight exercises: push-ups, squats, and planks. Fitness wasn’t just a hobby for him; it was integral to his mental clarity. “A sound body supports a sound mind,” he often told himself, echoing advice from his late grandfather, a stoic Eevee carpenter who had taught him the value of balanced effort.

By 8:15 AM, he was striding across campus toward his first class: Advanced Structural Analysis. His muscular build was evident even under his simple attire—a fitted navy blue hoodie with the university logo, cargo pants equipped with multiple pockets for pens, a small multitool, and a notebook, and sturdy boots suited for the long walks between buildings. The gym sessions after classes had sculpted his frame: broad shoulders tapering to a defined waist, powerful arms and legs that spoke of functional strength rather than mere aesthetics. He moved with purposeful grace, nodding politely to passing students—nickit, growlithe, cinderace, and more—many of whom returned his greeting with genuine warmth.

In the lecture hall, Gregory claimed his usual seat near the front, not out of a desire to be noticed, but because proximity to the professor facilitated better absorption of the material. Professor Harlan, a grizzled obstagon known for his rigorous standards, launched into a complex discussion on load-bearing calculations and material fatigue. Gregory’s dark brown eyes remained fixed on the board, his paw moving steadily across his notebook in precise, annotated diagrams. When a fellow student—a timid snow meowth named Lena—leaned over during a group problem-solving segment, whispering about her confusion with shear stress formulas, Gregory didn’t hesitate.

“Hey, no worries,” he said softly, his voice warm and encouraging, with a gentle mid-range timbre that carried subtle Eevee warmth. “Let’s break it down. Think of it like this: the material’s resistance is like a team holding a heavy load together. If one link weakens...” He sketched a quick side-by-side comparison on a spare sheet, explaining the concepts with analogies drawn from everyday campus life—the way the old library bridge flexed under foot traffic, or how reinforced gym equipment distributed weight. Lena’s ears perked up as understanding dawned, and she thanked him profusely. Gregory smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Anytime. We’re all in this together.”

This helpfulness wasn’t performative; it stemmed from a deep-seated belief that knowledge grew stronger when shared. Gregory had tutored dozens of students over the semesters, often in the quiet corners of the engineering library or via late-night study group texts. He remembered names, struggles, and small victories—celebrating a friend’s improved grade on a midterm with a simple high-five or a shared protein snack from his gym bag. His kindness extended beyond academics. In a competitive field where burnout was common, Gregory acted as an informal mentor, reminding others to pace themselves and integrate rest into their routines.

After a full day of classes—structural analysis, circuit design, and a robotics seminar—Gregory headed to the college gym as the afternoon light began to wane. The fitness center was a bustling hub of determination: clanging weights, rhythmic treadmills, and the low hum of conversations. He changed into his workout clothes—a simple black tank top that accentuated his toned chest and shoulders, paired with athletic shorts that allowed full mobility. His fur gleamed slightly under the overhead lights as he started with a dynamic warm-up, tail swishing in focus.

Gregory’s gym sessions were methodical. He rotated through compound lifts: bench presses that highlighted the power in his pectorals and triceps, deadlifts that engaged his core and posterior chain, and squats that built explosive strength in his legs. Between sets, he offered spotter assistance or form corrections. When a lanky buizel freshman struggled with improper bar path on the bench, Gregory approached gently. “Mind if I give a quick tip? Keep your wrists straight and drive through your heels—it’ll protect your shoulders and let you push more safely.” He demonstrated with light weight, then spotted the student through a successful set, offering quiet praise. “Solid form. You’ve got this—consistency beats everything.”

These interactions built a quiet network of gratitude around him. Students from various majors sought him out not just for engineering help or lifting advice, but for his calm demeanor in a high-pressure environment. Gregory listened more than he spoke, asking thoughtful questions about their goals and challenges. For him, engineering wasn’t merely equations and prototypes; it was about solving real problems for real people—designing accessible infrastructure, efficient energy systems, or resilient robotics for disaster response. His fitness routine mirrored this philosophy: building a body capable of sustaining long hours of focused work and, perhaps one day, fieldwork testing his creations.

As evening settled over the campus, Gregory packed up his gear, muscles pleasantly fatigued but energized. He walked back toward his apartment under the soft glow of streetlamps, tail swaying thoughtfully. The day had been productive: solid notes, meaningful help offered, and physical progress made. Yet, beneath the routine, there lingered a subtle undercurrent of curiosity about what lay ahead. Johoto Ridge University held many secrets—rumors of experimental labs, ancient campus lore blending technology and forgotten magics, and personal journeys waiting to unfold. Gregory felt the stirrings of something larger, a convergence of his studious mind, helpful heart, and capable body that might soon be tested in ways he couldn’t yet imagine.

For now, he returned home to a simple meal of grilled proteins, vegetables, and rice, followed by more review and a bit of prototype tinkering. The Eevee engineering student closed his notebook with a satisfied sigh, dark brown eyes reflecting the glow of his desk lamp. Tomorrow would bring new challenges, new opportunities to learn and to lift others alongside him. And in the quiet certainty of his routine, Gregory stood ready—muscular frame poised, kind spirit unwavering, and engineering ambitions burning steadily like a well-maintained engine.

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Saturday morning light crept through the half-drawn blinds of Gregory’s apartment, painting warm stripes across the rumpled sheets. The anthro Eevee stirred slowly, his muscular body stretching with a low, satisfied rumble. His chestnut-brown fur was slightly tousled from sleep, short brown hair messy in that effortlessly appealing way. His dark brown eyes fluttered open, already glinting with a different kind of hunger—the hedonistic side he kept carefully compartmentalized during the week. Weekdays were for engineering lectures, tutoring, and helpful spotter sessions at the gym. Weekends? Weekends were for raw, unrestrained indulgence.

Gregory’s paw slid down his toned abs, fingers brushing the thickening sheath at his groin. His cock was already stirring, fat and heavy even before full arousal. He wrapped a strong paw around the emerging length, thick veins pulsing under soft fur as it swelled to an impressive girth—easily eight inches when fully hard, with a slight upward curve and a plump, sensitive knot beginning to form at the base. He stroked lazily at first, savoring the building heat, his bushy tail flicking against the mattress. Memories of the week’s restrained politeness fueled him: helping Lena with shear stress, spotting that buizel freshman, all while his body ached for release.

His strokes grew firmer, faster, paw pumping with practiced rhythm. Pre-cum slicked his grip, the musky scent of an aroused Eevee filling the room—earthy, potent, with a sweet undertone that clung to everything. Gregory’s hips bucked, dark eyes half-lidded in pleasure as he edged himself, drawing it out. Minutes into things, he came hard with a deep groan as thick ropes of potent cum splattering across his chest, abs, and the sheets. Several powerful spurts even arced far enough to hit the nearby desk and wall, saturating the air with his heavy, masculine musk. The room reeked of it now, a heady cloud that made his nose twitch in satisfaction. He lay there a moment, chest heaving, smearing a bit of the mess into his fur with a lazy grin. “Perfect start,” he murmured, voice husky.

Shower time came next. Gregory padded to the bathroom, still dripping, and stepped under the hot spray. Steam rose quickly. He soaped his muscular frame thoroughly—broad shoulders, defined pecs, powerful thighs—but saved the best for last. Leaning against the tiled wall, tail lifted high, he worked two fingers into his arse first, then three, then four. His hole was exceptionally well-trained from years of dedicated play and weekend conquests: velvety, greedy, and capable of taking significant size with ease. He scissored and thrust, moaning openly as the four fingers stretched him deliciously, brushing his prostate with expert precision. Water cascaded over his short brown hair and down his back while he finger-fucked himself thoroughly, adding a thumb briefly just to feel the burn of fullness. The urge to fist himself was great, but he held off… for the moment, if only because he wasn’t sure he wanted to spoil himself just yet. By the time he finished, his cock was hard again, but he denied himself another orgasm. Anticipation was half the fun.

Drying off, Gregory dressed for the hunt. He chose the skimpiest outfit possible: a tiny black mesh crop top that clung to his pecs and left his abs and most of his chest exposed, paired with the shortest, tightest athletic shorts imaginable—blue and barely-there, riding high on his thick thighs. The fabric strained obscenely over his fat, bulging groin, the heavy outline of his sheath and balls clearly visible, even the slight swell of his knot hinted at. No underwear. His tail hole was left accessible with a subtle rear seam. A pair of sneakers completed the look. He checked himself in the mirror, turning to admire how the shorts cupped his firm, rounded ass and how the bulge drew the eye immediately. “Let’s see who bites today,” he said with a flirtatious wink at his reflection.

Gregory stepped out into the bustling city, the weekend energy vibrant around him. Construction noise echoed from a nearby site, mixed with café chatter and pedestrian traffic. He walked with deliberate swagger, hips rolling just enough to make his bulge and ass bounce enticingly. Heads turned—pokemorphs of all species pausing to stare at the fit Eevee flaunting himself so shamelessly. He loved it: the power of being desired, the thrill of selection.

His first target appeared quickly. Near the active construction zone, a massive Machoke was directing a crew, his grayish-blue muscles glistening with sweat under the morning sun. The Fighting-type was enormous—well over six feet tall, with boulder-like shoulders, a barrel chest, and thick arms that could crush stone. His work vest was open, revealing a powerfully defined torso, and his construction pants hung low on his hips. Gregory’s dark eyes lit up. Worthy.

He sauntered closer, pausing at the temporary fencing as if admiring the work, but really positioning himself for maximum visibility. He stretched upward, arms overhead, which made his crop top ride up and his shorts pull even tighter across his bulging groin. The Machoke noticed immediately, his gaze dropping straight to that obscene package before traveling up Gregory’s toned body.

“Morning, big guy,” Gregory called out, voice smooth and teasing. He leaned against the fence, tail swishing high, one paw casually adjusting his shorts so the fabric outlined every inch of his fat cock and balls. “Hot work today, huh? You look like you could use a break… or some relief.” His dark brown eyes locked on the Machoke’s with bold invitation, a playful smirk on his muzzle. He turned slightly, giving a view of his perky ass, then back, flaunting the front again. The flirting was direct, charged—subtle ear flicks, a lick of his lips, a low chuckle as he complimented the Machoke’s physique. “Those arms could probably pin someone down easy… if you wanted to.”

The Machoke—named Brock, as he soon introduced himself with a deep, rumbling voice—grinned, clearly enticed. The crew was on a short break anyway.

“You’re an eager one, little guy.” Brock rumbled as he grabbed his water bottle and then took swig.

“Like you wouldn’t believe.” Gregory snickered as he reached out to caress the bulging gray arms in front of him. “It’s been a long week, and I feel like I need to do my civil duty to keep this city stress free, if you know what I mean?”

“I do, but why me of all people? I’m nobody special.” Brock grumbled even as he reached out to feel up the Normal type pokemorph.

“You’re speaking to a Normal type, big guy,” The eevee chuckled. “Being special is not all the important, so long as your determined to do something with yourself.”

That caused the Machoke to howl with laughter, making him crew mates turn to look at him curiously. “Well, when you put it that way...”

Gregory’s smiles as he continued with his skilled teasing: a few more flirty words about how he admired real strength and wouldn’t mind feeling it up close. Brock wiped his brow, eyes dark with lust, and nodded toward a quiet, secure spot—a partially finished storage shed on the site, locked but accessible via a side door Brock had keys for. “C’mon, kid. Let’s see if you can handle what you’re advertising.”

Inside the dim, secure shed, tools and materials provided makeshift privacy. Gregory wasted no time. He dropped to his knees the second the lock to the door was clicked shut, paws tugging Brock’s pants down to free the Machoke’s massive cock—thick, heavy, and already leaking, smelling ripe with masculinity and sweat. Gregory’s muzzle stretched wide around it, gag reflex completely gone by now, with his throat relaxing with practiced ease as he took him deep, bobbing enthusiastically. Saliva dripped down his chin while he hummed, the vibrations drawing groans from the big fighter. Gregory’s own bulge strained against his tiny shorts, pre soaking through, becoming tighter with time as the Machoke moved a foot over to caresses and gently knead the hefty girth.

Brock was eager but not rough beyond what Gregory craved. He lifted the Eevee effortlessly once he felt himself on the precipice, raw need and hunger at not being able to get relief throughout the past few weeks making him eager for another hole to drill as he turned the Normal type around and yanked those skimpy shorts aside. Gregory’s well-trained ass took the Machoke’s girth in one smooth, slick push—stretching beautifully around the invasion with a moan of pure pleasure.

“Damn, you’re one well trained slut, aren’t you, kid?” The Fighting type growled as he began hammering home a tunnel that had seen some expert use.

“Would you be happier if I weren’t?” The tease spoke louder than the words as Gregory nuzzled into the other’s armpits.

“Heh, maybe a little bit.” Brock admitted as he rolled his groin forward with a hefty pump of his hips. “A guy always wants to be someone’s first, you know.”

“Sorry, big guy. This ass is like a runway, everyone gets a chance to come through,” The Eevee giggled as he breathes in the intoxicating stink of a working man.

“Then I better leave my mark, so that you’ll have something to remember.”

And thus began a brutal pounding that stole Gregory’s breath.

“Fuck yes… deeper,” Gregory gasped, pushing back. Brock ravished him hard against a sturdy workbench, powerful hips slapping against Gregory’s firm ass, the Eevee’s tail wrapped around the Machoke’s waist for leverage. The muscular Eevee’s cock bounced freely, smearing pre on the wood as he was railed thoroughly.

Gregory’s endurance shone. He took every inch, clenching rhythmically, his hole milking Brock expertly. The Machoke came with a roar, flooding Gregory’s as with thick loads that the Eevee hungry hole swallowed greedily, some spilling down his rim and taint onto the floor.

Not done yet, Gregory stroked himself to completion after Brock pulled out and then fingered him with four of his meaty digits, painting his load across the Machoke’s abs as a messy thank-you. They panted together afterward, Gregory’s musk now mixed with Brock’s in the small space. The Eevee cleaned up just enough to be presentable for the street, licking his current lover of the hour clean so that he wouldn’t get in trouble once back on the job, before flashing a satisfied, flirtatious grin. “Thanks for the morning workout, big guy. Might see you again sometime if you’re still on sight later on this month.”

Brock chuckled, clearly impressed by the eager, skilled Eevee. “I hope so, I know a few other guys that would love to get a chance to cover this runway.” He said as he smacked Gregory’s plush rump.

Gregory adjusted his skimpy outfit, bulge still prominent and now slightly damp, and stepped back out into the city sunshine, body buzzing with endorphins and ready for whatever—or whoever—came next in his hedonistic weekend adventure.

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The city park stretched out like a green oasis amid the urban sprawl, trees rustling in the late-morning breeze as Gregory broke into an easy jog. His skimpy outfit left almost nothing to the imagination: the black mesh crop top clung to his sweat-dampened chestnut fur, outlining every ridge of his muscular pecs and abs, while the tiny gray shorts rode high on his powerful thighs. His fat groin bulge bounced heavily with each stride, the fabric already darkened slightly from residual excitement and the warm day. His bushy tail streamed behind him, and his short brown hair bounced lightly, dark brown eyes scanning the paths with playful hunger. Jogging served dual purposes—keeping his fit body primed and putting his barely-covered form on full display for anyone worth enticing.

He ran several invigorating miles, nodding at fellow joggers and enjoying the way eyes lingered on his ass and prominent package. The rhythmic slap of his sneakers on the pavement, the burn in his quads, and the fresh air sharpened his already heightened senses. By the time hunger properly set in, Gregory was glistening with a light sheen of sweat that made his fur gleam attractively. He slowed to a walk near the park’s edge, heading toward a cluster of food spots, his tail swishing with satisfied energy.

That was when he nearly collided with a towering figure in a police uniform. “Whoa—Gregory?” The deep, familiar rumble belonged to Daniel, his best friend and an imposing anthro Arcanine officer. Daniel stood at 7′8”, a wall of fiery orange fur with bold black stripes, broad-shouldered and powerfully built from years on the force. His uniform strained across his massive chest, badge glinting, but his muzzle was set in clear frustration—ears slightly pinned, fiery eyes narrowed from what looked like a rough shift.

“Dan! Perfect timing,” Gregory said brightly, stepping in close enough that his barely-contained bulge brushed against the Arcanine’s thigh. He placed a paw on his friend’s arm, squeezing the firm muscle appreciatively. “You look like you’ve had a hell of a morning.”

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” The Fire type grumbled in aggravation.

“In that case, let me take you to lunch—our favorite steak house. My treat.”

Daniel sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Greg, I appreciate it, but I’ve got reports to file and this shift has been nonstop bullshit. Domestic calls, traffic stops gone sideways… I should just grab something quick and head back.” He tried to step away, but Gregory wasn’t having it. The Eevee leaned in closer, voice dropping to a husky murmur as he let his paw drift teasingly lower, grazing just above Daniel’s belt in an almost possessive manner.

“C’mon, big guy. You know you need this. I can see how tense you are… and I know exactly how to help you unwind.” Gregory’s dark eyes sparkled with mischievous promise, his body language pure sexual coercion—pressing his sweat-warmed, scantily-clad form against Daniel’s side, letting the Arcanine feel the heat radiating from his groin.

“You’re a deplorable deviant, you know that?” The Fire type grumbled affectionately.

“You’d be worried if I wasn’t, admit it.” The Eevee winked saucily while nuzzling the hefty package in front of him.

“Heh. Maybe.” Daniel said with a tease of intimacy within his husky voice.

“One lunch. You can vent to me, or on me, you’re choice, and I’ll make sure the rest of your day gets… better. Much better.” His tail brushed deliberately against Daniel’s leg, and the subtle grind of that fat Eevee bulge made resistance crumble. Daniel’s ears flicked, a low growl of reluctant arousal escaping him as he finally nodded.

“Fine. But we make it quick,” Daniel muttered, though the twitch in his uniform pants betrayed him.

They walked the short distance to Flame & Ribs, their go-to steak house tucked in a quieter corner of the district. The hostess seated them in the far back booth as requested—private, with a long tablecloth draping nearly to the floor, perfect for discretion. The scent of grilled meats and spices filled the air as they ordered: thick ribeyes, loaded baked potatoes, and hearty berry sides. Over the meal, Gregory listened attentively, his foot occasionally rubbing against Daniel’s calf under the table.

Daniel opened up about the frustrations—the bureaucratic nonsense, the aggressive suspects, the weight of keeping the city safe while feeling undervalued.

“You would not believe how STUPID some pokemorphs can be!!” Daniel growled while tearing into his steak, flames flickering at the edges of his dour muzzle. “There are SIGNS put up for a reason! It’s not hard to obey them!!”

Gregory nodded, interjecting with empathetic comments and gentle humor. “I can understand that, as I have my own problem children on campus.” The Eevee rarely let such pokemorphs bother him, as he could always request that they be given other projects to do if they failed to grasp the material in question enough times.

“Sadly, I have to deal with mine almost all the time, instead of just for an hour a day.” The Fire type sighed while slumping into his chair.

“You carry so much, Dan. Let it out. I’ve got you.” His kindness was genuine even in hedonism; helping his best friend feel heard always heightened the later payoff.

“Thanks, Greg.” The police officer soon pulled himself back up into his seat, now with his back just a touch straighter. “Have you spoken with Michael as of lately?”

The Normal type immediately went on alert. “No. Why?”

“Well it’s… No, nothing.” Daniel said with a shake of his head, right before a sudden fist slam made his ears lower.

“Daniel, what’s the matter with Mic?” If there was one thing that could set the Eevee’s persona ablaze, it was worry over his good friend. While not on the same level as the arcanine when it came to closeness, as Daniel and Gregory had literally grown up together in the same no-nothing town in the rural bumfuck nowhere, Michael was a close friend all the same. Someone that the Eevee had been rather protective of growing up, given that they both had been of the same species in middle school and college before the later evolve. Choosing a life of thrills and beauty over practical engineering, something that had not ended well for Michael, given the situation with his family.

Gregory shook that thought away as he pinned Daniel with a commanding look.

“He’s… in trouble again.” The arcanine began, slowly.

“The usual?” Seeing the Fire type nod, Gregory cursed under his breath. “How bad?”

“Not bad enough where I can arrest him, but getting there, since he’s been driving the Night Howlers around the city to places where I can get a warrant if I pressed hard enough, and you know what they get into.”

Yes, he did.

Fighting, drugs, prostitution, gambling, and but not murder. The leader of the pack, a towering Zamazenta named Blue Beard, was legendary for his ruthless presence within the underbelly of the city, utilizing all canine pokemorphs with very few prospects in life to help stretch his control into all corners of the region. Thankfully, he knew when to pull back his reach before he overextended his grasp, making sure that his pack did the same, as while most of the crimes would get them sent away for a couple of years, the spilling of blood would get someone life. And Blue Beard valued his people enough to not want to see that happen, something that made him fondly respected by those beneath him.

Sadly for Michael, his ability to stay with his head above water was never that great after failing to become the superstar he wanted, and thus, Gregory had made it his mission to see that his good friend didn’t fall into the kind of trouble he wouldn’t be able to get out of.

“I’ll speak with him soon enough.” Daniel actually pulled back a bit as he registered the ice within his best friend’s voice.

“Right, poor bastard.” Gregory merely chuckled before returning to conversation to other topics.

By the time their plates were mostly cleared, Daniel looked noticeably calmer, shoulders relaxed, a small smile breaking through.

That was Gregory’s cue. With a wicked grin, he slipped silently beneath the table, the long cloth concealing him completely in the dim, secluded booth. Daniel’s eyes widened slightly, but he kept his composure, sipping water as if nothing was happening.

“Gregory…!!”

Gregory chuckled as his paws worked quickly but quietly, unzipping the Arcanine’s uniform pants and reaching inside, since the Fire type was a stickler about time. Out came Daniel’s gargantuan knotted canine cock—already half-hard and impressive even in that state. The tapered red shaft was thick as Gregory’s wrist at the base, veined, and topped with a swelling knot the size of a large fist. Below hung heavy, furred testicles, musky and full.

Gregory inhaled deeply first, burying his nose against the sheath and balls, savoring the rich, heady scent of aroused Arcanine—spicy, masculine, with that signature canine warmth that always drove him wild. “Mmmph… fuck, you smell good,” he whispered almost silently, nuzzling the heavy orbs before dragging his tongue slowly across them. He licked and sucked each testicle into his warm mouth one by one as best he could, bathing them thoroughly, feeling their weight and the way they tightened under his attention. His paws stroked the emerging shaft, coaxing it to full, throbbing hardness while he worshipped the sheath, tongue dipping inside to tease the sensitive flesh.

“Gregory, don’t… please… I can’t…”

Daniel’s thigh tensed under Gregory’s free paw, the officer gripping the edge of the table discreetly. Gregory moved to the main event, lips stretching wide around the tapered tip. He took Daniel deep in one smooth motion, throat relaxing with expert skill honed from countless encounters. The Eevee’s muzzle bobbed steadily, tongue swirling around every vein and ridge, paying special attention to the spots he knew Daniel loved best: the sensitive underside just below the head, the swelling knot base, and the way he hummed vibrations deep in his throat. Electric lust filled Gregory as he indulged in the hobby that sparked his hedonistic lifestyle, ironically with the person who he lost his virginity to—he loved every second of it: the salty-musky taste coating his tongue, the throbbing heat filling his mouth and throat, the subtle twitches that told him exactly when he hit the right rhythm. Making his strong, stoic best friend come undone like this was intoxicating; Gregory’s own cock strained painfully against his tiny shorts, leaking freely as he worked tirelessly.

Deeper and deeper he went, nose eventually pressing into Daniel’s pubic fur as he swallowed the massive length to the root. The knot popped past his lips, locking snugly in his mouth and stretching his jaws wide. Gregory’s throat bulged visibly as he hummed around his favorite toy, rippling around the shaft as he sucked with relentless suction and tongue work, paws massaging the heavy balls that rested against his chin.

Daniel fought hard not to embarrass himself in the busy restaurant. His claws dug into the tablecloth, jaw clenched, biting down on his own wrist to muffle the deep, involuntary growls and near-howls threatening to escape. His fiery eyes darted around nervously, nodding vaguely at a passing server who asked if everything was alright. “Y-yeah… just… the food’s great,” he managed, voice strained.

Gregory felt the climax building as he all but sang around the musky shaft—the knot swelling even larger in his mouth, the shaft pulsing wildly. He doubled down on the pleasure points, sucking harder, throat convulsing in perfect rhythm. With a stifled, bitten-off roar into his wrist, Daniel erupted. Massive, thick ropes of hot Arcanine cum blasted straight down Gregory’s throat and into his belly, wave after wave of it. The volume was enormous, filling the Eevee until he felt satisfyingly bloated, some excess leaking from the corners of his stretched muzzle despite his best efforts. Gregory moaned around the knot in pure bliss, eyes watering with pleasure as he milked every drop, loving the way Daniel trembled and fought for control. His own cock, not forgotten, but rather pointedly ignored, throbbed HARD in between his legs as the Normal type focused on making his bestie fill his stomach to nearly bursting

They stayed locked like that for long minutes, with Daniel ordering another steak in the meantime, as he wasn’t going anywhere until the knot began to deflate. Once it did though, Gregory cleaned him thoroughly with gentle licks, tucked everything away neatly, and emerged from under the table as if he’d simply dropped a fork. His muzzle was flushed, a trace of cum wiped discreetly away, belly slightly rounded from the load. He slid back into his seat with a satisfied, loving smirk.

“Feel better now?” Gregory asked innocently, though his dark eyes promised much more for the rest of the day.

“You’re an insatiable and heinous reprobate, who I should arrest for indecency.” Daniel growled without any bite to it.

“Thank you, but that didn’t answer my question, officer.” The Eevee giggled while licking his mouth lewdly.

Daniel could only nod, still catching his breath, the frustration from work long forgotten in the afterglow of his best friend’s expert, devoted attention. The steak house hummed on around them, none the wiser to the intense scene that had just unfolded in their hidden corner.

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As they stepped out of Flame & Ribs into the afternoon sun, Daniel’s demeanor had shifted fully back to his usual dominant confidence. The massive Arcanine placed a heavy paw low on Gregory’s back, kneading his backside firmly in thanks, then delivered a firm, resounding smack to the Eevee’s barely-covered ass. The impact made Gregory’s firm cheeks jiggle noticeably beneath the tiny shorts, a sharp sting blooming into warm pleasure.

“Careful teasing me like that during my shift, Greg,” Daniel growled low, his fiery eyes promising more.

“Or what?” The Normal type replied as saucily as he could.

“Or tomorrow I’m going to pound you so deep you’ll feel me for days. Understand?” His paw lingered, squeezing possessively.

Gregory chuckled, a rich, playful sound, and deliberately arched his back to wave his ass back against Daniel’s paw in invitation. “Promises, promises, Officer. I’ll be waiting… and ready.” They shared one last heated look before parting ways—Daniel heading back toward the station with a noticeable spring in his step, Gregory sauntering off with a satisfied sway in his hips, the smack still tingling pleasantly.

Back at his apartment, Gregory stripped off the cum-and-sweat-stained skimpy outfit and collapsed into bed. The room still carried faint traces of his morning musk. As he drifted off, his thoughts lingered on Daniel, of what could be, if only either of them would say what the other couldn’t: the Arcanine’s powerful orange-furred body with him on a beach somewhere, his massive knotted cock stretching his throat as the celebrated a full year of close and personal intimacy with one another, the taste of his release covering Gregory’s tongue and throat as the Fire type claimed what Gregory would never give anyone else ever again, and the protective strength behind that dominant exterior as they cuddled together while waves lapped at the short. Gregory smiled wistfully into his pillow, one paw lazily cupping his own bulge as sleep claimed him.

He woke refreshed a few hours later, the evening light shifting to dusk. A quick series of stretches loosened his muscular frame—deep lunges that highlighted his thick thighs, torso twists that flexed his abs and obliques, and shoulder rolls to release any residual tension. He kept the outfit minimal for the night ahead: the same mesh crop top and an even skimpier pair of black shorts that left the lower curves of his ass on full display. After calling a Lyft, Gregory slid into the back seat, chatting casually with the driver while his tail flicked with anticipation.

The club was Howl, a pulsing all-male gay venue known for its heavy bass, dim multicolored lights, and unapologetic atmosphere. Gregory paid the cover for himself and a few others who seemed just young enough to be in such a place as a good deed for the evening and then stepped inside, immediately enveloped by the thick air of sweat, cologne, and raw masculine energy. He moved through the crowd with familiar ease, weaving past dozens of men he’d been intimate with over countless years. A burly Tauros got a playful grope to his broad chest; a sleek Umbreon received a lingering stroke along his flank; a group of charizard earned fond squeezes to their asses or sheaths as Gregory passed. Each touch was happy and reciprocal—light laughter and knowing winks exchanged. He was a beloved regular here, someone whose wanton nature helped to absorb the stresses and regrets of a life that many constantly regretted falling into and yet were helpless to figure a way out of.

The dance floor called to him after a rum and coke, the bartender, a friendly Noctowl, hitting the mix just right to make the Eevee’s spine tingle and his tail snap.

Gregory pushed through to the center, the music from the DJ booth washing over him—a heavy, throbbing EDM track layered with deep bass drops and sultry synths that vibrated through his bones. He danced fluidly, muscular body moving with athletic grace: hips rolling, tail swaying, arms raised as he lost himself in the rhythm. Sweat began to glisten on his chestnut fur again, the mesh top turning sheer as it clung to his form. His fat groin bulge shifted hypnotically with every grind and thrust of his hips, drawing appreciative stares from all directions.

Before long, a group of thuggish-looking canine-type Pokémon closed in around him. They moved with predatory confidence—Boltund, Houndooms, and others with scarred muzzles and sharp eyes, tattoos visible beneath their club attire. Gregory smirked, recognizing them instantly: the Night Howlers. Thankfully, they weren’t here for trouble tonight, it seemed—at least not the violent kind.

A particularly muscular Mightyena pushed through the circle. Carlos, the gang’s sub-leader and enforcer, was an imposing figure: sleek black-and-gray fur, powerful build rippling with muscle, sharp red eyes, and a presence that commanded respect. Without warning, he grabbed Gregory firmly—one large paw wrapping around the Eevee’s throat in a controlling but not choking grip, the other seizing his hip. Carlos pulled him back flush against his body and growled hotly into one of Gregory’s sensitive ears, the sound low and vibrating with dominance.

Gregory remained completely unafraid, his dark brown eyes sparkling with excitement. “Hey, Carlos,” he said casually, voice steady despite the hold. “Missed this energy.” He immediately pushed back, grinding his plump, barely-covered ass firmly against the Mightyena’s groin in slow, deliberate circles, feeling the growing hardness there.

Carlos chuckled darkly, the sound rich and amused against Gregory’s ear. “You’re always so fucking bold, little Eevee. Most guys would be shaking when I grab them like this.” He ground forward in response, letting Gregory feel the thick, insistent press of his canine cock through their clothes—hot, heavy, and promising.

“True, but I know that you won’t try what you could on someone who can SWIFTLY kick your ass.” The Mightyena chuckled as he pulled the other close before licking Gregory’s lips, forcing a kiss upon the other that was easily swallowed.

The others within the pack watched with a mixture of lewd words and rolled eyes.

Once the pair pulled back, with Carlos nipping at Gregory’s lips, Gregory spoke again.

“I want to talk to you about Michael.” The Mightyena’s paw on the Eevee’s throat tightened just enough to assert control, thumb stroking along the jawline, while the one on his hip dipped lower, squeezing the exposed lower curve of Gregory’s ass cheek.

“What about him?”

“He’s getting in hot water with the law.”

“He knows the risks of being… affiliated with us.”

“No, he doesn’t, but I do, which is why I want to take him off your hands, permanently.” Gregory said without pause.

“You’ll have to speak to the boss about that. It’s not my call.”

“Yes, it is, because you don’t want your gang’s bad behavior’s anonymously pointed out to the police.” Gregory challenged, despite being held in an iron grip.

“You wouldn’t dare.” The Mightyena growled.

“Of course I would, and you know that.”

The two shared a heated look, as their respective will clashed, all the while the music changed around them without missing a beat.

“Why do you care so much about this little driver?” Carlos asked as he caressed the Eevee’s chest possessively.

“He’s a good friend. Does there need to be anything more said?”

“From the way you act, he seems like more than that.” The Mightyena grumbled.

“Jealous?”

“Only a little…” It was heartfelt truth with true passion behind, slightly shocked Gregory.

“Clean up your act and maybe we could be more than this…”

The Mightyena shook his head at that. “Heh, not happening anytime soon. I’ve got too much at stake right now.”

“That’s fine with me, since I don’t push, unless I have to…”

Carlos hissed as he felt Gregory’s groin force itself into his, “I guess you really want to push this issue with Michael, huh?”

“Yes.”

“Fine, but if we lose a driver, we get access to something better, that’s how it works for the Night Howler’s.” The Normal type grumbled almost desperately as his cock began to push hard against the front of his pants.

“I’m game if you are.”

Carlos’ smirk nearly split his face as he nodded and then looked up to nod for the others to come over.

The rest of the Night Howlers closed in protectively, forming a tight, intimidating ring on the dance floor that shielded the pair from the rest of the crowd. Their presence added a thrilling edge of danger and exclusivity. Carlos turned Gregory’s head with firm insistence, capturing his muzzle in a deep, dominant kiss. The Mightyena’s tongue invaded possessively, exploring and claiming with rough hunger—tasting of mint and smoke. Gregory melted into it eagerly, grinding back harder, his own cock straining against the tiny shorts as he submitted to the kiss while still provocatively working his ass against Carlos’s bulge.

The enforcer broke the kiss only to nip at Gregory’s neck and ear, growling praises and teasing threats between heated breaths. “Keep teasing like that and I might just drag you to the back rooms… but not tonight. Tonight I want you feeling exactly who owns this dance floor with you.” His paws roamed—squeezing, stroking, one slipping briefly under the waistband of Gregory’s shorts to tease the base of his tail before retreating, all while they continued to sway and grind to the pounding music. It was pure, charged intimacy: sexual provocativeness without crossing into full acts, a public display of dominance and mutual desire that left Gregory breathless and buzzing.

==================================================================

The pulsing bass of the club vibrated through Gregory’s bones as Carlos kept him locked close. The Mightyena’s grip on his throat and hip tightened with clear intent. What started as provocative grinding quickly escalated. Carlos yanked the back of Gregory’s already-skimpy shorts aside with one claw, exposing his well-trained, eager hole to the hot air of the dance floor. The enforcer’s thick, knotted canine cock—hot, veined, and already slick with pre—pressed against him. With a powerful, rolling hip thrust disguised as an aggressive dance move, Carlos drove in deep in one smooth, claiming stroke.

Gregory gasped sharply, the sudden stretch burning deliciously as the thick girth split him open. Carlos was huge—longer and thicker than most, with a tapered tip that kissed deep inside before the swelling knot threatened at his rim, but nowhere near Dan’s hefty girth. The Eevee’s muscular body shuddered in pleasure, dark brown eyes fluttering as he was filled completely. The sheer debasement of being fucked right there on the crowded dance floor, surrounded by the Night Howlers, sent a thrill straight to his core. He loved it: the loss of control, the dominance, the risk of being seen even as the gang shielded them.

Carlos fucked him hard and without remorse, every thrust perfectly synced to the heavy EDM drops. He kept one paw firmly around Gregory’s throat, tilting his head back for control, while the other gripped his hip like a vice, guiding their bodies in powerful, rhythmic motions that looked like intense dancing to outsiders. The Eevee’s cock was all but ignored in favor of what both men wanted to feel right then. Each deep plunge made wet, obscene sounds barely masked by the music—Gregory’s velvety walls clenching greedily around the invading cock, slick with natural lubrication and pre. The sensation was overwhelming: the burning stretch, the way Carlos’s knot battered insistently at his entrance without popping in yet, the heat of the Mightyena’s breath against his ear growling filthy praise.

“Take it, bitch. This ass belongs to the pack for now on,” Carlos snarled, pounding harder. His powerful hips slammed forward, driving his cock to the hilt with every beat. Gregory’s fat bulge bounced heavily in his tiny shorts, leaking profusely and soaking the front as prostate stimulation sent sparks of ecstasy through him. Sweat poured down both their bodies, mixing with the club’s humid air thick with musk, smoke, and lust. The other Night Howlers danced tightly around them—broad-shouldered canines moving in a protective, swirling wall—occasionally reaching out to grope Gregory’s chest, tweak his nipples through the mesh top, or stroke his straining cock through the fabric. Their low chuckles and growls added to the sensory overload.

Gregory moaned openly, lost in the domination. He pushed back eagerly into every thrust, tail hiked high, loving how small and used he felt under the enforcer’s control. The debasement was intoxicating—the studious engineering Eevee reduced to a cock-hungry slut on the dance floor, taken by a thuggish gang leader in front of his pack whose feelings for him were just as wild as the music. Every powerful stroke dragged against his sensitive walls, hitting that perfect spot inside that made his vision blur with pleasure. His own cock throbbed untouched, knot swelling, pre dripping down his thighs.

Carlos’s rhythm grew more feral. He bit down hard on Gregory’s shoulder—sharp teeth sinking into the muscle in a claiming mark. The pain flared bright and hot, blending seamlessly with the pleasure as blood trickled warmly down his chest. “Mine. And the pack’s,” Carlos growled around the bite, hips stuttering. With a final, brutally deep thrust, he forced his knot inside. The massive swelling popped past Gregory’s rim, locking them together as the Mightyena came hard. Thick, ropey jets of hot cum flooded Gregory’s guts, pulse after pulse, so much that his belly distended slightly and excess squeezed out around the knot with every throb. The sensation of being pumped full, marked inside and out, pushed Gregory over the edge. He came untouched in his shorts, soaking the fabric and adding his own musk to the air, body shaking in Carlos’s iron grip.

They stayed locked for long, pulsing minutes, swaying together to the music as the knot slowly deflated, all the while the Mightyena licked the mark he left clean while nuzzling into fur that smelled so damned good. Carlos finally pulled out with a wet pop after the DJ changed the rhythm of his music, cum immediately leaking down Gregory’s thighs in messy rivulets onto the floorboards that had seen so much of the same in the weeks that passed. He gave the Eevee’s marked shoulder a final lick and stepped back with a satisfied smirk, adjusting himself.

The rest of the Night Howlers didn’t wait long. The protective circle tightened with eager hunger. One by one, the canine Pokémon took their turns—each using Gregory right there amid the dancing bodies, thrusts hidden behind the group’s rhythmic movements.

A burly Houndoom went first, mounting him with fiery urgency. His ridged cock stretched Gregory anew, the heat intense as he pounded fast and shallow, paws gripping the Eevee’s slim waist. Gregory moaned, pushing back, loving the variety of shapes and intensities as the other shot liquid fire into his abused guts. Next came a Boltund, smaller but viciously energetic, biting at his neck while jack-hammering deep. Gregory’s hole, now slick with two milky load, took them all with practiced ease once the electric dog had seeded him—clenching, milking, drawing out growls and snarls of pleasure.

Not all were purely dominant. When a more submissive-leaning Lucario in the gang—lean, blue-furred, with eager eyes—took his turn, he begged for Gregory to flip the dynamic with moans and whimpers and a heated musk that screamed surrender. The Normal type happily pushed the Lucario against one of the dancing bodies for support, mindful of the silver spike within his chest, yanked his pants down, and mounted him right there. When Gregory’s thick Eevee cock sank into the Lucario’s tight ass, the subby canine moaned loudly as the Normal type fucked him with strong, rolling thrusts, all the while whispering what a good boy the mixed type was for his submission. The sensory contrast was exquisite: the tight heat around his shaft, the way the Lucario’s aura faintly sparked with pleasure, and the empowering feeling of topping one of the gang members while still dripping with the others’ cum.

He switched between being used and taking control—getting railed by a massive Midday Lycanroc whose knot stretched him wider than Carlos, then turning to breed a whimpering, subby growlithe who presented eagerly. Each encounter layered new sensations: different girths, textures (barbs, ridges, knots), temperatures, and rhythms. The pack’s musks blended on his fur—earthy, spicy, wild. Gregory’s body was a canvas of pleasure and debasement: cum leaking steadily from his used hole, bite marks blooming, fur matted with sweat and seed, yet he reveled in every second of it. The music never stopped, the dance never broke, the Night Howlers shielding their shared toy while taking their fill.

By the end of the pack’s turns, Gregory was thoroughly spent yet glowing with satisfaction—marked, claimed, and utterly satisfied in the heart of the predatory circle. =======================================================================

The Night Howlers’ energy shifted from raw, dominant fucking to something warmer and more intimate after the last canine pulled out. Gregory stood in the center of their protective circle, legs shaky but steady, cum leaking steadily down his thighs from his thoroughly used hole and matting his fur. The pack closed in affectionately. Carlos went first, pulling the marked Eevee into a deep, lingering kiss—tongues sliding lazily, the taste of shared exertion and dominance still fresh. The other gang members followed in turn: rough muzzles pressing against his, broad tongues licking across his neck, shoulders, and chest, and then lowered as they began to clean and claim him with affectionate growls. They nuzzled his marked bite, lapped at the mess on his fur, and shared sloppy, open-mouthed kisses that left Gregory tasting the mingled essences of the pack.

Gregory returned the affection eagerly, paws roaming over muscular chests and flanks, kissing back with equal enthusiasm. He licked across a Houndoom’s muzzle, nuzzled deep into a Lucario’s neck, and planted teasing kisses along a subby Mightyena’s jaw while giving his sheath a fond squeeze. The sensory tapestry was rich—warm tongues dragging through his fur, the salty-musky taste on his lips, the low rumbles vibrating against his body, and the collective heat of the pack enveloping him. It was debauched yet strangely tender, a pack ritual of belonging.

Satisfied and buzzing, Gregory danced a while longer with them. His body moved slower now, more fluid and sensual, ass still leaking as he ground against whoever was closest. The music thumped on, lights flashing across sweat-slicked fur and satisfied grins. Eventually, the night wore on and dawn threatened to rise, making last calls for all. Gregory gave Carlos and the others one last round of affectionate gropes and kisses, promising to see them again soon, before slipping out of the circle and heading for the exit.

Outside, the night air felt cool against his cum-matted fur. Still charged with restless energy—hole twitching, cock half-hard in his ruined shorts—Gregory called a Lyft. The ride arrived quickly, and he slid into the back seat with a tired but playful smile.

When the driver pulled up, the Eevee’s breath was stolen from him as he looked to see none other than Michael, a familiar Sylveon with soft pastel fur, elegant ribbons, and a perpetually gentle demeanor. As usual, Michael looked exhausted—shoulders slumped, eyes heavy with dark circles from what must have been a long shift. “Hey, Greg… rough night?” he asked weakly, starting the drive.

Gregory leaned forward between the seats, his musky, well-used scent filling the car. “Something like that. You look like you could use some relief, though.” Gregory knew that fussing at the other would do no good right now, as the stubborn Fairy type would had an Adamant nature that made him quite resistant to being badgered into anything. Instead, the Eevee used what he always did to get the other to move to the beat of his will. His paw reached out, stroking one of Michael’s ribbons gently. “Pull over when we get to my place. Let me take care of you.”

Michael hesitated, ears flicking, but the offer—and Gregory’s insistent, knowing touch—proved too tempting after a draining day. At Gregory’s apartment building, he parked, turned off the car and the app with a sigh, and twisted in his seat. “Just… be quick, okay? I’ve got a run that I have to make afterwards.”

Gregory was happy to oblige. He leaned in fully, freeing Michael’s cock from his pants—a slender but nicely shaped Sylveon member, already twitching with need. The Eevee took him into his warm, skilled mouth without hesitation. Sensory details flooded him: the clean, slightly sweet taste of his friend, the way Michael’s ribbons instinctively wrapped around his head and shoulders for support, the soft gasps and whimpers as Gregory bobbed and sucked with expert rhythm. He swirled his tongue around the sensitive head, took him to the hilt with easy throat control, and hummed vibrations that made the Sylveon’s ribbons flutter. Michael didn’t last long—stress and exhaustion made him sensitive. With a soft, keening cry, he released down Gregory’s throat, warm and plentiful. Gregory swallowed every drop, licking him clean afterward with affectionate care.

Michael panted, looking momentarily relaxed, and tried to start the car again. “Thanks, Greg… I should head out.”

Gregory’s expression turned firm but caring. “No. You’re dog-tired, Michael. Come upstairs and get some real rest tonight. I’m not letting you drive like this.” When the Sylveon gave a faint, half-hearted argument about responsibilities, Gregory reached out, grabbed one of his long, silky ribbons firmly, and hauled him out of the driver’s seat with strength that never failed to surprise the Fairy type. Michael stumbled after him with a surprised yelp, ribbons trailing as Gregory led him toward the building entrance and up to his apartment.

Inside, Gregory’s grip on the ribbon remained gentle but insistent—he knew he sometimes had to bully his friend into self-care. “Shower. Now. We’ll talk more in the morning.” Michael’s weak protests faded into grateful silence as the door clicked shut behind them, the exhausted Sylveon finally yielding to the Eevee’s caring dominance after a long, stressful day.

=======================================================================

The apartment door clicked shut behind them, and Gregory wasted no time. He gently but efficiently stripped Michael first—peeling off the Sylveon’s work clothes, letting them pool on the floor. Michael’s soft pastel fur was slightly damp with nervous sweat, his elegant ribbons limp with exhaustion. Gregory then shucked off his own ruined, cum-stained outfit, the fabric hitting the ground with a damp slap. Naked, the Eevee’s muscular body was on full display: chestnut fur matted in places, the fresh bite mark on his shoulder still tingling, and his fat sheath and heavy balls swaying as he guided the tired Sylveon toward the bathroom.

The shower was warm and steamy. Gregory positioned Michael under the spray first, the water cascading over the Sylveon’s lithe frame. He soaped his friend thoroughly with strong but loving paws—massaging shampoo into the pastel fur, working it into a rich lather across his chest, back, and slender hips. Gregory’s touch turned affectionate and sensual: slow circles over Michael’s shoulders to ease the knots, gentle strokes along his ribbons, and careful cleaning between his legs where Gregory’s earlier attention had left him sensitive. He nuzzled and kissed along Michael’s neck, whispering soft praises. “You work too hard… let me take care of you.” Michael melted under the care, soft sighs and contented hums escaping him as Gregory washed away the day’s stress. The Eevee even took his time cleaning his own body, the hot water soothing his well-used hole and marked shoulder while he kept one paw on Michael for steady, intimate contact.

Dried off with thick towels, Gregory led them both to the bedroom. They slipped under the sheets completely naked. Gregory pulled Michael close, the Sylveon curling up trustingly against his broader, muscular chest. Skin and fur pressed warmly together—Gregory’s stronger frame spooning the lithe Sylveon, one arm draped protectively over him, a leg tangled between Michael’s. The shared body heat and rhythmic breathing quickly lulled them both into deep, restful sleep.

Morning light filtered through the blinds as Gregory stirred. The apartment door opened with a familiar click—he wasn’t worried thought, since only one other person besides himself had a key, after all. A familiar massive Arcanine stepped inside his bedroom, already shrugging off his uniform jacket like he lived there, fiery orange fur catching the light. Gregory’s dark brown eyes opened lazily, a sleepy but pleased smile spreading across his muzzle as he took in the sight.

Daniel chuckled deeply, eyes roaming over the naked pair in bed. “Well, damn. I took the day off because I wanted to enjoy one tight Eevee ass all morning… but it looks like I get two for the price of one.” He pulled his shirt over his head, revealing the powerful, striped musculature beneath, then worked on his pants. His heavy sheath and balls were already plumping with interest.

Gregory chuckled warmly, the sound low and affectionate. He leaned down and licked a slow, loving stripe along Michael’s sleeping face and neck, the Sylveon murmuring happily in his sleep but remaining curled up contentedly against him. Gregory then shifted smoothly, moving on top of the smaller Sylveon in a protective, dominant press—his muscular body covering Michael’s lithe form from behind, chest to back. Gregory’s fat, morning-hard cock nestled against Michael’s rear while he arched his back and shook his plump, still-marked ass invitingly toward Daniel.

“Come and get what you want, big guy,” Gregory said with a teasing grin, tail lifted high and dark brown eyes sparkling with renewed hedonistic energy. “We’re all yours this morning.”

Daniel growled approvingly, stepping closer as he freed his massive, knotted Arcanine cock, the room already filling with the promise of another intense, shared encounter.