This is a short work of erotic fiction containing furry, or anthropomorphic, characters, which are animals that either demonstrate human intelligence or walk on two legs, for the purposes of these tales. It is a thriving and growing fandom in which creators are prevalent in art and writing especially.
All work is fiction intended for fantasy only, regardless of content, and consent must always be acquired when engaging in any sex act with another adult.
Please note that all characters are clearly over eighteen and written as such in all stories.
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He was a stud and Devon knew just why he was on his knees before his father, moaning as he caressed James' hot prick. The coloured bay and white stallion, a skewbald in common terms, rippled with just the right amount of muscle, though he should not have been grinding and teasing his cock over his son's muzzle. No... No, there was a wife back home, not where he was visiting his son, but the nature of their relationship could not be disclosed not to anyone.
Devon groaned, playing his broad, fleshy tongue across the head of James' cock, the smooth length of grey flesh lightly wrinkled even as it remained plump. The medial ring, even though he had one of his own, was one of his favourite parts to scoop his tongue over and past, dipping his tongue into his father's sheath. He whimpered. How could such a thing be so soft and pliable, the kind of thing that made him hunger for his father in that special way time after time again?
His legs were apart, boasting a black and white piebald coat, his face white with a pink nose, nostrils quivering. He was lighter and more delicate than his father, in his early twenties, but neither of them cared about such things. It was for them, that moment and time together, lust rising, grinding against one another, the spring of Devon's cock throbbing something that was not for him.
No... No, his job was to please that massively thick spire of meat right there before his eyes, lips reverently trailing down to the stallion's balls, caressing them with his fingers. He never wanted to squeeze too much, pressing in, but he wanted to show his adoration in more ways than only with his lips. His father deserved that, yes, he was confident in it, lust-addled and his eyes hazed over with raunchy desire.
"Come on, boi..." His father smirked. "Don't you think you should be doing more than just licking it? You know better than that..."
James leaned back against the small bedroom wall, a shared house but no one else was there at that time. He grunted thickly in the back of his throat, yet the sense of power was dramatic as it curled through him, something that came inherently to him - only to be shared, of course, with a willing partner. He never would have taken up with his son at all if he had not known that Devon lusted for him just the same, but sometimes the boy did need a guiding paw, fingers twisted into his mane.