u/Fearless-Stop-2052

Right, so it’s been 16 days since I last had a traditional wank to ejaculation. What started as a simple quest for my first HFWO has turned into this daily (sometimes twice-daily) ultra-gratifying prostate pleasure spiral. My boyfriend’s out of town dealing with family drama, so it’s just been me at home having proper 45–60 minute sessions first thing in the morning before work, last thing at night, or both. Usually start with the Helix Syn or Eupho, sometimes finish with the Njoy or a dildo. I’ve been so trigger-happy that within two or three minutes of putting a toy in I’m already getting those deep abdominal contractions that bloom into HFDOs. Sometimes I’ll have porn on (usually just listening), most of the time it’s binaural beats in the headphones with classical music in the background so the neighbours don’t hear me moaning and cumming like a complete slut.

I’ve been ending every session with intentional HFWOs just so I can actually get to sleep or leave for work and shut the constant waves up. Sometimes it’s a choice, sometimes my body just forces it.

The last two days I had zero play. Work was stressful, boyfriend’s family stuff was stressful, lots of heavy conversations about aging parents — not exactly sexy vibes. This morning my stomach was off so a proper clean-out wasn’t happening. No toys today then. I just lay on the bed gooning, watching porn, playing with my poor 16-day-neglected cock. Edging myself over and over. Proper rock hard, balls feeling heavy as fuck. Keep in mind my prostate had been getting drained once or twice a day until two days ago, so now I’m backed up on top of 16 days of no penile release.

I’m lying there teasing and denying myself, having a proper goon session, when all of a sudden my legs start twitching. Then my whole body starts involuntarily shaking and a full HFDO just takes over. Legs pull up, I’m literally vibrating on the bed. Most intense prostate orgasm and it started from me stroking my dick. Completely dry, no toy, and the refractory period was like 10–20 seconds. It finally dies down, I’m lying there breathless thinking “what the fuck was that?”

Naturally I wonder if I can do it again.

Start wanking to porn again and within a minute or two another HFDO hits, even stronger. Legs clapping together, I can actually feel my prostate engorge and push like it does against a toy… except nothing’s there. I just relax into it and this orgasm rolls and rolls and keeps going until it finally lets me go.

At this point my body is desperate for release. I get on my knees, back straight, arse between my feet (my usual HFWO position) and another HFDO immediately slams into me. It’s so intense I end up folding forward, chest down, arse up, face in the pillow, just getting wrecked by it. Then that massive prostate-engorged feeling hits again, I’m groaning like an animal, start panting, feel my urethra relax like I’m about to piss… and suddenly an aless HFWO erupts. Proper gush of prostatic fluid all over my hand and my new waterproof blanket (cheers for that rec, lads).

As soon as it finishes I’m floating and the pleasure itself triggers another one. Stronger. Squirting again. Then a third wave hits and this time the HFWO morphs into a full peegasm — pure euphoric release, all that pressure just flowing out of my cock in a stream while my whole body is still convulsing with pleasure.

I properly collapsed after that. Completely fucked, deeply satisfied, and honestly a bit stunned.

I didn’t know that was even possible. I was fully planning on having a proper wank this weekend and resetting, especially after reading how some of you lot take breaks or wank weekly to stay sensitive. But now… I don’t know. Maybe I’ll see how long I can ride this wave instead. I’ve never felt anything so blissfully, ridiculously pleasurable in my life.

Had to share.

Cheers.

Some of you might remember my post about giving my boyfriend his first prostate orgasm. What I didn’t talk about much was what happened to me afterwards.

Watching him have what was very obviously a wild fucking orgasm was incredible… but I’ll admit I was also a little jealous. 😂 I wanted to know what the hell he was experiencing.

I remembered owning an Aneros nearly a decade ago, although I hadn’t used it in years and couldn’t even find the damn thing. So I started reading through posts here, asking questions, digging through the wiki and generally absorbing everything I could. Based largely on everyone’s advice, I eventually went to a local sex shop and bought a Helix Syn.

And at first?

I didn’t love it.

It wasn’t bad, exactly. I just didn’t understand what I was supposed to be feeling. But once again, you lot came through. I picked up some advice about lubrication and started using coconut-oil suppositories beforehand. Suddenly the experience was completely different.

Around the same time, my boyfriend gave me my first HFWO using an Njoy Wand. It was wild, overwhelming and honestly enough to make me decide that I wanted to understand my own body a little better before we went much further together.

I’m more of a vers top and hadn’t bottomed in over a decade, so I decided there was absolutely no rush. I could take my time, reintroduce myself to anal play and gradually dip my toes into prostate-focused pleasure.

Between the advice here, the wiki and Mindgasm lessons 1–3, things started clicking.

First came the P-waves. Then A-less orgasms. Then HFDOs with toys.

By the time I reached Mindgasm 5, I felt pretty damn dialled into the dry side of things. I could reliably get myself there and was having an absolute blast doing it.

But there was still one thing driving me nuts:

I wanted the wet ones.

I knew my body could do it because my boyfriend had already managed to pull one out of me, but reproducing it myself remained elusive.

And then, once again, this community gave me exactly the information I needed at exactly the right time. The discussions this week about breathing rate finally helped something click.

And, lads…

I HAVE BEEN A FUCKING SQUIRTING MACHINE FOR THREE DAYS. 😈

HFWO after HFWO. Different toys. Different sessions. At this point I’m pretty damn confident I’ve finally got them unlocked.

So genuinely: thank you, thank you, thank you.

To everyone who answers questions, writes guides, contributes to the wiki or just shares some weird little observation about what worked for them — somebody out there is reading it. Sometimes that one little bit of information is exactly what another bloke needs for everything to suddenly fall into place.

This has been an absolutely ridiculous and wonderful journey of discovering what my body can do.

Now if I could just figure out how to never go to work again and spend the rest of my life in my bedroom pleasuring myself, I’d be fucking made.

Cheers, lads. ❤️

Hi all,

I’ve been on my own prostate journey for about 2–3 months now ever since my bf experienced his first prostate orgasm. I got through Lessons 1–3, and Lesson 3 in particular seemed to unlock something for me. Since then I’ve managed to have both Aless and HFDOs, and I’ve mostly just been exploring on my own rather than carrying on with the app.

Someone recently suggested I go back and finish the Mindgasm lessons, which seems like a decent shout. I also think I stumbled across the Top muscle by accident during a session the other day, and Lesson 4 pretty much confirmed that for me.
Up to now I’ve always done the lessons without an Aneros in, and I’ve had some genuinely brilliant Aless sessions that way. But as I’m coming up to Lessons 5 and, especially, 6, I’m wondering if I should change that.

Lesson 6 says, “The first listen will have the biggest effect… don’t waste the first listen.” That got me thinking.

So, for those of you who’ve completed the course, would you recommend doing the first listen to Lesson 6 without a toy, as intended, or with an Aneros if that’s already a big part of your practice? I’m not really chasing intensity as much as getting the most out of the lesson itself.

Cheers, and much obliged.

Author’s Note: This is a yiff story featuring anthropomorphic (“anthro”) characters. If you’re new to the fandom, think of it as a romance and erotic story where the characters are human-like animals rather than humans. If that’s not your cup of tea, no worries—but if you’re curious, welcome, and I hope you enjoy the read.

_____________________________________________

I stared at the little pink box on the counter like it owed me money. “Early Response Pregnancy Test” my arse. The only early response I had was vomiting up my breakfast two mornings in a row and nearly dry heaving at the smell of Charlie’s aftershave.

I cracked the box open with my thumb claw, yanked the foil wrapper, and unfolded the instructions like I was disarming a bloody bomb. Piss on the stick. Easy. Aim mid-stream. Not so easy. I hiked up my knickers, sat down on the toilet like a lady—if a lady had to wrangle her tail out the way and spread her thighs like a slag on heat—and let the stream rip. Halfway through, I remembered I needed a bloody sample, so I jerked the stick into position like I was trying to intercept a rogue missile. Managed to piss on my paw anyway. “Fuck’s sake,” I muttered, shaking it off like a wet dog. A fresh wave of nausea rolled up my gut, and I had to brace myself against the wall, breathing through my nose and praying I didn’t spew on the floor.

Stick capped, timer set. Fifteen minutes. Bloody eternity. I rinsed my paw, sat on the edge of the tub, and told myself not to spiral. But I did.

I’m Special Agent Misty Cove, Fraud and Foreign Threat Division, Defence Operations. Office in The City. Fancy title, innit? Doesn’t stop me from shagging suspects to bag ‘em. A month ago I got assigned to investigate one Mr. Rourke Madigan—a Dingo, foreign national, suspected espionage and corporate IP theft. Rumour was, he’d been nicking military-adjacent prototypes and slipping them to some mystery buyer overseas. After two weeks of recon, we planned to sting him at the embassy ball using the old honeypot trick. And guess who drew the short, slutty straw?

Yeah. Yours truly.

Not that I minded. Honestly, I get a little thrill every time HQ pulls out the seduction clause in my contract. If nabbing a slippery bastard means a little cock and maybe a cheeky shag in a posh hotel? So be it. Alright, fine—I fucking love it. I mean, come on. What bird doesn’t like a bad boy with dirty secrets? And I get to fuck ‘em and arrest ‘em. Double orgasm.

Anyway. Night of the op, I met with Charlie and Basil—my tech lads. They were staked out in the van, parked discreetly outside the hotel. Eyes and ears in the room, audio and video patched in from my gear.

Very discreet. Charlie calls it the Clit Cam.

Wanker.

It’s a piercing. Just above my mound. Barely visible. Tiny little lens that gets crystal-clear footage from below. Picks up everything: dick going in, dick pulling out, facial reactions, groans, all of it. According to Charlie, it’s gold standard for prosecutorial evidence. But I reckon he just likes watching my snatch get stuffed on a high-def monitor. Dirty boxer freak.

Anyway.

It’s the night of the ball. I’m dressed to kill. Six-inch heels, crimson dress tighter than a gnat’s arse, cleavage on display like I’m selling perky C-cups for the crown.

I clock him across the room—Madigan. Black tux, crisp white shirt, tie knotted tight like he’s got nothing to hide. Slick. Polished. The kind of bastard who fucks with his cufflinks still on and his secrets stitched into the lining. He looked like trouble. Like the sort of cocky prick who’d rail you breathless and forget your name before his knot went down.

Perfect.

I made my move. Flirted like my life depended on it. Touched his arm. Laughed at his boring jokes. Brushed my tit against his elbow. At some point, I copped a feel of his cock through his trousers—thick and half-hard already. He went still. Looked around like someone might see. Then he smiled, slow and wolfish.

“Oi, love,” he said, all lazy charm. “This party’s a fuckin’ snooze. Fancy nickin’ off up to my room instead?”

Bingo, Dingo.

The elevator ride was quick, but his nerves weren’t. He kept fidgeting with his cuffs, clearing his throat, adjusting the bulge in his trousers like he didn’t know what to do with it—or maybe where to stick it. I couldn’t tell if he was a thieving bastard afraid he was about to get caught, or if he’d just never been with a feline as fine as me before.

What? I know I’m hot. I looked like the cover of a smut mag and smelled like sex on heels. There’s no excuse for soft cockery in my presence.

We got to the room—high floor, lush suite with thick purple curtains and cream carpet that probably cost more than my flat. As soon as the door clicked shut behind us, I turned, unzipped my dress in one smooth motion, and stepped out of it like it was my job—which, it was. Left me in nothing but black lace—bra and knickers, sheer as sin—clinging tight against my spotted fur, the dark contrast making my curves pop like I’d been gift-wrapped for the occasion. Add a pair of thigh-highs and my heels, and I was Clit Cam ready.

He didn’t stand a chance. I pushed him toward the bed like I’d paid for the room myself, all hips and confidence. Started undressing him—tugging at that tight collar, peeling off the jacket, working those buttons open like I’d waited all fucking month to get my paws on him. Got him down to his black briefs. Real snug. Nice fit. Then I dropped to my knees with all the grace of a well-practised slag, hair tossed, tits proud, and a grin that said I’m about to ruin you. Looked up at him through my lashes, bit my lip, dragged his pants down—
and stared.

He was soft.

Soft.

What the bloody fuck?

I sat back on my heels, blinking. “You alright, love? Forgot how this works, did you?”

He looked down at me, scratching the back of his neck, ears twitching like he wished he could disappear into his shirt. “Yeah, uh… bit weird, I know,” he muttered. “But I’ve got this thing—I get off real hard when they’re tied up. Blindfolded too. Proper does my head in.” The dingo gave a helpless shrug. “Should probably talk to a therapist, but eh—rope’s cheaper.” As he said it, I watched his sheath twitch. That pinkish-red tip started to peek out, like just saying blindfolded was enough to wake his cock right up.

Kinky freak.

Now, normally, when a stranger in a hotel suite says he wants to tie you up and block your vision, the answer is run, not ride. But this wasn’t just a shag. This was a mission. And I wasn’t alone. I had Charlie and Basil in the van outside, probably already halfway to popping a boner watching the Clit Cam; but still, I had backup, an exit plan. And I really wanted to see where this was going. “Alright, then,” I said, licking my lips. “Tie me up, Dingo.”

The look he gave me—fuck me. It was all teeth. He walked over to a bag on the chair like this was any other weekend, and pulled out real rope. Not cheap shite. Good corded stuff. Knotted at the ends. Smooth, oiled. Practised. My cunt clenched. He tied me up—wrists bound behind my back, ankles parted and secured to the bedposts, tits lifted from how the angle pinned my shoulders. My heart was thudding. Not in fear. In need. When he brought out the silk scarf and slipped it over my eyes, everything went black. His paws guided me to the bed, warm against my arms. He nudged me onto my back, slow, careful.

“Spread your legs for me,” he said.

I didn’t hesitate. I couldn’t. My clit was so hard I thought it might throb right off me. I took a deep breath. My tail curled. My nipples brushed the air. I was wet. Open. Ready.

I waited …

I didn’t know if he was just playing games or if he was one of those “build the anticipation, make her beg” types—but godsdamn, it felt like a bloody eternity laid out like that. Tied. Blind. Tits up. Pussy glistening. Everything exposed.

Then I felt it. The bed dipped with weight. His weight. The heat of him settled between my thighs, and then—fuck me—the first slow, deliberate lick across my gash.

“Fuuuuck,” I cried out, hips jerking against the ropes.

What can I say? I like sex. I like a good tongue, and this dingo had a wicked one. Slick, precise, greedy. For a moment, I forgot about the mission. The assignment. The bloody surveillance. I didn’t care about the IP theft, or the embassy, or Charlie probably wanking in the surveillance van. I was just a cunt on fire with a tongue inside it. And the blindfold? Made everything hotter. My nerves were humming. Every wet flick of his tongue felt like a lightning strike. With my vision gone, my other senses cranked to eleven.

Touch.
Sound.
Smell.

Wait. Smell.

His scent.

I’d clocked it earlier—cologne, a hint of gin, and that dry, dusty dingo funk. But now? Now there was something else. Still him, yeah, but more. Thicker. Wilder. My nose flared, and I caught it:

Musk. Stronger. Darker. A wolf’s scent. Primal. Pungent. Sex-drenched. That’s when it clicked.

We weren’t alone.

My breath caught just as that tongue—whoever’s it was—moved up to my clit and circled. Not lazy. Not experimental. Like he knew exactly where it was and what it could do to me. Like he’d studied it. Worshipped it. My thighs trembled. My claws dug into my bound wrists. I shuddered and came hard. Hot. Fast. Brutal. Like an orgasm caught off guard, torn between pleasure and a sharp stab of panic. I gasped for air, nipples tight, thighs twitching, my cunt drooling slick into the posh bedding like I had pissed lust all over it—hot, musky, rank—the kind of mess that clung to my fur and reeked of a bitch in heat. I could feel it leaking out of me in waves, soaking the plush sheets like I’d marked them, a filthy little leopard who couldn’t keep her scent to herself. Gods, I just hoped the Clit Cam wasn’t fogging up from the heat radiating off my cunt… or worse, that it hadn’t picked up the squelch when I gushed around his tongue.

And then—voice barely a whisper—I croaked,
“Who… who else is here?”

Silence.

Then two chuckles. Low. Amused. One smooth. One guttural. “Oh, love,” one of them said. “You didn’t think you’d be the only one working tonight, did you?”

The blindfold slipped off with a soft tug, and the blur sharpened into a scene that made my head spin. The dingo—Madigan—was lounging in that little cuck chair every hotel room seems to have. Legs crossed, one paw in his lap, watching me like I was prime telly. Between my thighs? A wolf. Broad-shouldered, ash-grey fur, dark eyes, and a muzzle slick with my cunt juice. He gave me a wicked grin.

“You taste so good, love,” he said. Voice deep. Smoky. “Like watermelon sugar. Like honeysuckle in spring.”

“Bollocks!” I shouted, full-body flinch. “Who the fuck are you?”

My gaze darted around the room. Where were Charlie and Basil? Surely they’d seen this—two blokes now, one inside me—why hadn’t they come storming in? Had they lost feed? Were they watching and just wanking?

I turned on Madigan. “Explain. Now. You slippery bastard.”

He laughed. The cheeky cunt laughed, stood from his little spectator chair and walked over to the wolf between my legs. And then—I swear to the gods—the two of them started kissing. Tongues and all. Hands gripping fur. The heat between them practically steaming the air. He broke the kiss and looked right at me.

“If you’re gonna play the honeypot,” he said, cool as a beer in the outback, “might wanna double-check your target isn’t batting for the other team, yeah?” He licked the wolf’s muzzle like it was his bloody trophy. “Bit of a blunder, sweetheart. Real rookie mistake.”

Then, with a sniff and a scrunch of his snout, he added, “Oi. How the fuck do you eat pussy, babe? It’s so… tangy.”

“I think she’s damn tasty.”

“Meh. At least it ain’t fishy. You’re right—this one’s kinda sweet.” The wolf just grinned and licked his lips, still sticky from my orgasm.

Their banter washed over me as I tried to process the bombshell he’d just dropped.

I blinked. “You’re … gay?”

GAY?! That wasn’t in his fucking dossier. Those wankers at Intel had a lot to answer for.

“And what about you?” I asked the wolf, grasping for some thread of logic in this dog’s breakfast of an op.

He wiped his muzzle on my thigh and gave me a grin that made my clit twitch.

“I’m his bi lover,” he said, paw stroking his fat, wet cock. “And I’m going to spend the night fucking you while Rourke breeds my arse.”

I gawked.

This whole mission had gone to absolute shit. No backup. No intel. Target’s a flaming queer. And now this big, sweaty, sex-drenched wolf is grinning like I’m dessert while his boyfriend reached for a bottle of Slick Paw™ to lube up for a reaming.

Part of me wanted to scream. The other part?

Well… fuck it.

I was tied up. No way to stop them. And truth be told? I was wet again. If this wolf wanted to dick me down, fine by me. He ate pussy like a champ—hopefully he knew what to do with that cock even if the real target didn’t give a toss about my snatch.

Small consolation? My cunt’s got five-star reviews, even if I’m not the target demographic, I thought, watching Rourke wipe the taste off with his paw.

His bi love, this feral wolf, smiled down at me, red cock bobbing as he lined up. The tapered head pressed to my clit, teasing.

“Ready, tramp?”

I didn’t say a word. Just nodded, biting my lip. He pushed in. Ooooooh—I moaned loud, my body jolting as that thick shaft stretched me wide. Gods, he was huge. No easing in. No warm-up. Just buried himself in me like I was his for the taking. He didn’t wait. Just started fucking. Hard. Fast. No rhythm, just raw need. My wrists ached in their binds. My tits bounced. My tail twitched under me, pinned awkwardly as he pounded away.

Five minutes. Maybe less. And then he paused. I felt the swell. His knot, pressing against me, flaring inside. He growled—head down, eyes clenched—and then came. Hot spurts of cum flooding me, thick and deep, his knot locking us together. I was still trying to catch my breath, thinking maybe that was it—maybe they’d untie me and call it a night. A part of me felt relieved. My wrists ached, my legs were jelly, and my poor cunt felt like it’d been busted up with a battering ram. But I’ll be honest—mostly? I was fucking livid. That wolf had a cock like a godsdamn fire hydrant, and that was it? A couple of thrusts and done? No long dicking? No slow grind? No filthy dirty talk while he split me open and made me feel it? Big-dicked beasts should know better than to shoot their load and roll off like they’re proud of themselves. I wanted a proper shag from a real male, not a glorified cum deposit from a quickshot knotboy.

But just as I started sulking about it, the bed sagged again. His chest crashed down on mine. My tits got squashed. I could barely breathe. And then he gasped. Loud. Choked.* *That sort of sound you make when someone shoves something thick and slick up your arse without warning. And that’s when it hit me—Rourke was fucking him. The dingo. The target. The slippery bastard I was meant to seduce. He was up there mounting the wolf who was still in my snatch.

I could feel it. The rhythm. Every time Rourke slammed into the wolf’s arse, it shoved him deeper into me. I was getting fucked through him. I was getting dicked by a dick getting dicked by another dick. Two blokes. One cock in my cunt, one cock in the other’s arse, and wasn’t even the filling in this perverted sandwich*. He* was. I was just the bottom bun, just the other end of a bloody feral fuck machine. Brilliant. Fucking brilliant. What a godsdamn diplomatic clusterfuck.

But as put out as I was that my mission was buggered six ways from Sunday and I wasn’t even the bleeding centre of attention, I had to admit—I’d never seen two poofs go at it before. And fuck me… Before I knew it, that rising swell—that tingling crawl from my clit to my core—was cresting again. My second orgasm, tearing through me like a bloody freight train. I shuddered, full-body. My toes curled, tail whipped, and my cunt clenched down hard around that thick wolf cock still rutting me like it was his right. I was buzzing. Shaking. Gasping like I’d just seen the gods.

And then I squirted. Properly. Messy and loud. Slick gushing out around his knot, dribbling down my thighs, soaking the sheets all over again. He groaned at the feeling—at the grip of my walls pulsing around him, milking him.

As I rode that wave I barely heard them talking, but I wasn’t part of the conversation. Still tied, knotted, soaked in cum—I was just a warm, wet hole for them. Used, dripping, wrecked. The wolf—gods, I still didn’t even know his name—was panting over me, his cock still rock hard, twitching inside my gash like he hadn’t just unloaded a fuckin’ litre. Rourke was behind him, gripping those furry hips tight, snarling low with every thrust. The scent in the room was foul. Thick. Musky. Like sex and sweat and something distinctly canine. Dingo and wolf. Wild mutts in heat.

I could hear them talking—to each other, not to me—casual as you like, like I wasn’t tied up beneath them being used as a living fucktoy.

“She take it well?” Rourke grunted, hips slapping against the wolf’s arse.

“Better than I expected,” the wolf smirked, looking down at me like I was a spread-legged buffet. “Tight little thing. Clings to my cock like she’s scared to let go.”

“She still dripping?”

He pulled back as far as he could—just to the edge of where his fat knot started straining at my battered cuntlips, threatening to stretch me all over again. Just enough to give Rourke a proper view over his shoulder. My slit, red and raw, stretched wide around that slick, swollen cock. Still glistening with his pearly load, my juices smeared all over his shaft. I could feel it pooling inside me. Sticky. Heavy. Probably leaking down my arse and soaking the sheets like I was a used-up cumdump.

“Still full of me,” he said, laughing. “And she’s not done yet.”

Then Rourke howled—and I mean actually howled, like some randy mongrel humping a fire hydrant—and I felt the rhythm of his thrusts start to stutter. Sloppy. Desperate. He was knotting the wolf’s guts, stuffing him full with every ragged slam. I could hear it. Feel it, through the thick cock still buried in my twat. His smooth grunts twisted into these raw, needy groans as he started dumping his load—knot swelling up inside the wolf, tail twitching like he was spraying down a bitch in heat.

And just as the dingo slowed down to catch his breath, groaning into the wolf’s fur like he’d shot his soul up there, the other mutt picked up right where he left off. He never pulled out of me. Never went soft. Just kept going—grinding into me like I was nothing more than a wet hole to ride out the aftershocks. Using the weight of Rourke knotted in his arse to slam forward and fuck me all over again. It was a slick, filthy chain reaction. One knotted, the other pumping. Rinse and repeat. The smell was obscene. Like sweat and cum and unwashed dog. And the sound—gods, the sound—slapping fur, squelching holes, panting breath. Like some fucked-up porn loop caught on repeat. And I was the sticky little toy caught in their feed.

They took turns. Not with me, mind you—I was just the dripping landing pad with a fat wolf cock up my twat. Whenever one of them was too knotted to move, the other picked up the pace, fucking harder, deeper—forcing that same thick cock back and forth inside my cunt like I was some glorified fucksleeve for their little lovefest. No rest. No reprieve. Just a nonstop rhythm that kept that fat, wild wolf cock pistoning in and out of me like my hole was the centrepiece of some depraved mutt mating ritual.

I had no idea how many cycles of fucking had gone by, but Rourke was back at it again, grunting like a bastard as he pounded into the wolf’s arse—his turn now—while I just laid there, stuffed full and twitching, still riding out aftershocks. “Brilliant,” I muttered, barely coherent. “I’m not even the one getting fucked and I still can’t catch a fuckin’ break.” Not that it was all bad for me, mind. I mean, I got my fair share of climaxes too, and eventually, I lost track of how many times I came. How many times he came. My body was trembling, thighs numb, throat hoarse from moaning. My cunt was beyond sore—stretched, raw, and clenching around every twitch like it still hadn’t worked out what year it was.

The sheets beneath me were soaked through, and between my legs? Gods. It looked obscene. A frothy mess of wolf jizz and cunt slick, churned up from hours of fucking, like butter from cream—thick, white, and clinging to my fur in sticky ropes. Every time his cock twitched, more of it oozed out of me with a wet squelch, like my hole had given up pretending to hold it all in. And the smell—fuck me sideways. It was rank. A choking musk of stale spunk, wild arse, and overbred heat, thick enough to stick in the back of your throat. It reeked like a kennel in mating season, like I’d been mounted by a dozen mutts in a row and left to stew in it. Repulsive, animal… and gods help me, fucking hot. My stomach turned, my clit throbbed, and I didn’t know if I wanted to shower or shove his cock back in and beg for another load.

Eventually Rourke collapsed beside me on the bed, face buried in a pillow, fucked out and silent. His knot was still swollen and angry red, slick and drooling where it hung between his thighs—like he’d emptied himself a dozen times into that wolf’s arse and finally tapped out. But the wolf? He never stopped. He leaned over me, sweat dripping from his fur onto my tits, and gave me this feral grin. I blinked up at him, barely coherent, my breath coming in little gasps. “Don’t you ever quit?” I rasped. “You’re a wolf, not a bloody bunny on speed.”

“Full moon,” he huffed. “I can rut all night.”

But with Rourke finally out of his arsehole, the wolf pulled out with a squelch that made my spine arch—and not in pleasure. His cock slid free with a messy pop, and I felt the aftermath of it all—heat, ache, raw stretch—and worst of all, the cold rush of air against my wrecked, gaping slit. He climbed off me, and I caught a glimpse of it as he shifted—dingo cum, leaking from his arse, trailing down the inside of his thigh in thick globs. The wolf didn’t even bother to wipe it off. He just repositioned himself and grabbed the ropes binding my wrists and ankles with those big, blunt-fingered paws.

“Up you go, love,” he said, like he was helping me into bed and not into position to be mounted again. He loosened the ropes just enough to move me. Untied my ankles, gave my thighs a quick rub—more practical than tender—and yanked me up onto all fours before rescuing the ropes.

Doggy style.

Fucking finally.

Not that I wasn’t loving the tied-up, flat-on-my-back fucktoy bit, but gods, my shoulders were killing me. Getting bent over like a bitch on heat was practically a luxury at this point. He got behind me, lined up, and without a word, shoved his cock back in like it belonged there. Then he bottomed out in me again—fuck, I was so full—and just as casual as asking the time, he said, “You on birth control?” I nodded. Barely. Too cockdrunk to lie. He laughed—deep, rough, and absolutely not reassuring. “Too bad,” he grinned. “No pill can stop these wolf pups from taking on a night like this. Wolves are meant to breed under the full moon.”

I thought he was just being a cocky prick. Machismo. Bragging rights. But now—

Now I’m back in my flat. Still sore. Still ruined. Still smelling faintly of wolf cum and dingo sweat two weeks later. And I’m staring at the little plastic stick on my bathroom counter. Ten minutes in, and that first faint little blue line is starting to appear, the control. My breath caught. My paws trembled.

Please let him be lying, I begged the gods. Please let that bastard be lying.

Five more minutes to go.

At some point, exhaustion finally caught up with me and I passed out. Didn’t stop the wolf, though. Bastard used my cunt like a teenager with a fleshlight. I’d wake up in fits—groggy, barely conscious—just enough to feel his hips grinding into me, or his knot lodged deep, throbbing, pumping more jizz into a pussy already overflowing. He didn’t slow down. He didn’t stop.

And gods help me… I didn’t want him to.

Hr

I woke with a jolt sometime the next morning. The suite was quiet.

No dingo.
No wolf.
No gear.
No ropes.

Just the sharp morning light through the curtains and the stench of sex thick in the air. For half a second I thought maybe I’d dreamt it. Some depraved little sleep-wank fantasy cooked up by too many late ops and not enough dick. Then I shifted my legs and winced. My poor pussy was wrecked. Stretched wide. Oozing thick globs of wolf spunk. I reached down and spread my lips just to see how bad it was and yeah—bloody ruined. And the smell. Gods. Like wild dog and used condom left in a sauna. Then I felt it—pressure, thick and bloated, building in my cunt like trapped heat behind a dam of jizz. My guts cramped. My ruined hole twitched. And before I could clench or move or even breathe—

Prrraaapppt.

A violent, gurgling cum queef blasted out of me like wet air forced past a clogged plug. It slapped against my thighs, smeared down to my arse, and soaked into the bedding with a squelch that could make a porn set go quiet. The stench hit next—hot, sour, rank. The scent of overbred cunt and spent mutt cock, thick enough to taste on the back of my tongue.

“Charming,” I groaned.

My wrists were sore. My thighs ached. The whole room felt like a scene from a stag weekend gone feral. I staggered up, swaying slightly, picked up my knickers off the floor, looking back at the ruined duvet and hoping housekeeping wears gloves, and that’s when I saw it. A plain manila folder on the bureau. Scribbled across the front in blocky handwriting:

From one spy to another — you’re a great fuck. My bloke and I had a hell of a night. Also, my government reckons yours oughta see this.

The wolf’s handwriting cut in below, scrawled with a grin you could hear through the ink:

P.S. That snatch of yours? Top notch. Wouldn’t mind a second go.

I stood there for a second, staring at the envelope like it might bark. What now? A thank-you card? A punchline? A formal request for diplomatic immunity for mutts who knot their enemies stupid?

I opened it, still naked, my knickers hanging from one paw.

Photographs. Blueprints. Names. Locations. A full-blown terrorist op scheduled to go down in three weeks. Intel we’d never had. Targets we weren’t watching.

Blimey.

Turns out Rourke wasn’t a thief at all—just a spy. A proper one. Working his own op, collecting intel the quiet way while our lot were too busy chasing ghosts and cockblocking themselves with bad dossiers. He wasn’t hiding the truth—just playing his part. And, apparently, shagging his way through it.

We’d been off. Way off.

And I? Well… I’d been fucked so stupid I hadn’t even seen it coming.

There was too much to do, so I didn’t even bother with a shower. Alright—truth is, that’s only half the story. My brains had been properly shagged out the night before, and I wanted to savour it. The ache. The mess. The sticky, musky aftermath of a wild one with a wolf who’d promised me pups under a full moon. I slid my ruined knickers up. They barely held on with how swollen my cunt was—and headed out to find my useless bloody partners.

Hr

The surveillance van was still parked where we’d left it, half-tucked behind the hotel like a guilty secret. I limped up, thighs sore, knickers clinging to the mess between my legs, and yanked the back door open like I had a warrant.

The smell hit first—hot, stale, unmistakable. Cum and arse.

Inside?

Charlie and Basil.

Naked.

Basil bent over the edge of the console, tail flagged, ears pink with shame. Charlie behind him, knot-thick boxer cock halfway in, paw braced on the fox’s lower back, mid-thrust. His knot hadn’t lodged yet, but it was begging to. And on the monitor—gods help me—the fucking footage. From my Clit Cam. Playing in glorious HD.

Rourke in the wolf.
The wolf in me.
My cunt on full display, stretched around cock, drooling on command.

I blinked.

They blinked.

Charlie froze like a mutt caught shagging the furniture. I stared at them. They stared back. Basil let out this pathetic little whimper—“Misty, it’s not… fuck, it’s not what it looks like,”—while the boxer’s cock twitched inside him like it knew damn well it was exactly what it looked like.

I hadn’t decided yet if I was going to scream at the pair of closet-case techies for rutting each other while I got bred like livestock… or climb in beside them, rewind the footage, and critique my own performance with a glass of wine in paw. After all, my first night tangled up between a pair of male lovers hadn’t been half bad. Why not make it a double feature?

My paw itched for the laptop. I was sore, soaked, and still leaking—but I’ll be damned if I wasn’t gonna see if the Clit Cam caught my good side. If my partners could play hide the knot, why the hell couldn’t I?

Rrrrrrrring

The timer dinged.

Pulled me right back to the present. My bathroom. My queasy stomach. The subtle fear. I’d been praying it was food poisoning. Bad sushi from three nights ago. Dodgy spring rolls from that place near HQ. But his words still echoed in my ears.

“Full moon. I can rut all night.”
“No pill can stop these pups from taking on a night like this.”

Surely birth control accounts for full-moon-wolf-breeding, doesn’t it? I took a deep breath. Prayed to every godsdamn deity I could name, and looked at the test …

Fuck!

Over the last few months my boyfriend and I (MM) have been exploring prostate-focused play way more intentionally, and honestly it’s been one of the wildest sexual experiences either of us has ever had — physically and emotionally.

What kicked this whole thing off was completely accidental.

We were high, fooling around, and while I was sucking him off I started fingering him casually. We weren’t trying to induce a prostate orgasm — I honestly didn’t even know what one was. I just thought it felt good for him.

At first he mostly just seemed intrigued by the sensations (he’s vers and already likes anal). Then he started saying he felt like he needed to pee. He’s into watersports and we were both high enough that I honestly didn’t care if a little piss happened, so I kept going gently while telling him to relax and just let himself feel whatever his body was doing.

Then things escalated fast.

His hole started contracting rhythmically and involuntarily around my fingers. Thick creamy mucus/fluid started getting expressed and his breathing went rapid and shallow. He kept saying things like “I think something’s happening” and “this is too much.”

At one point he asked me to stop because the sensations were overwhelming, but it was also obvious he was experiencing intense pleasure and just didn’t understand what the hell his body was doing. So I slowed down, kept talking to him calmly, and told him to breathe and relax into it.

Then he basically became completely unglued.

His whole body started shaking and pulsing rhythmically. His prostate got dramatically bigger and started pushing really obviously against my fingers. He kept saying things like “I feel like I’m drowning” while simultaneously sobbing/moaning from pleasure. I’m not exaggerating when I say I briefly wondered if he was having some kind of seizure because I had never seen anything remotely like it before.

What followed was his first hands-free dry orgasm, which lasted what felt like 3 minutes straight.

After that his body entered this insanely reactive “wave” state where repeated orgasms became ridiculously easy to trigger. I made him cum like that 4 more times before he finally told me if we didn’t stop he felt like he was literally going to drown in it.

Half an hour later in the shower he got curious and asked if I could do it again. I slid one finger back into him and triggered another orgasm in under a minute. He was still that sensitive.

Since then we’ve started intentionally exploring this and learning a ton. One practical thing we figured out pretty quickly is that my fingers get exhausted before his prostate does 😅 so we’ve started experimenting with toys too. We picked up an Aneros Progasm Jr and a couple curved glass toys to help with edging, sustained stimulation, and just generally keeping him “in the zone” without my hands cramping to death.

What’s wild is how position-dependent his responses are. For example, when he’s upright on his knees with his back straight instead of folded forward, his whole body reacts differently. His prostate seems way easier to engage in that posture and he starts producing huge amounts of clear fluid from his cock. At first we thought it was just pee or precum, but the volume is honestly absurd and it doesn’t really behave or smell like urine either. It’s clear, not yellow, and has this weird slightly sweet/nutty almond-like smell instead. In that position he’ll literally leak and pulse fluid repeatedly while his pelvic floor contracts.

A few other things we’ve learned:

Position matters WAY more than we expected.
- His prostate sits more at 2 o’clock while supine, but shifts a ton with position changes.
- Rhythmic stimulation works way better for him than static pressure.
- Once his prostate engorges, his orgasm threshold drops dramatically.
- After the first orgasm, edging becomes almost impossible because his body starts cycling automatically.
- The most I’ve gotten so far is 9 HFDOs back-to-back with less than a minute between them before he finally needed a break.
Relaxation/headspace matter more than any “technique.”
- Weed definitely helps him stop mentally fighting the sensations, though we can now do this sober too.
- Alternating between intense burst sessions and slower exploratory sessions works much better than trying to go full max-output every time.

One especially crazy thing we discovered is what happens if I fuck him after I get him into that cycling state with my fingers.

Before all this, sex was great but normal. Now once he’s had a couple hands-free dry orgasms, his body basically turns into this insanely sensitive feedback loop. His prostate gets huge and reactive and then every thrust just keeps setting him off again.
Like genuinely, once he’s in that state he’ll start shaking and orgasming over and over while I’m fucking him. It’s honestly absurd.

And from my side it’s wild too because you can physically feel what’s happening. His prostate basically throbs and pushes against my cock with every contraction. It feels completely different from normal penetration — like his whole pelvis is involuntarily milking itself around you while he’s trying to hold onto reality.

Curious whether other people here have experienced:

- the “drowning” sensation before orgasm
- involuntary pelvic contractions
- rapid post-first-orgasm cycling
- or huge differences between rhythmic stimulation vs static pressure.

Also interested in hearing from people who’ve figured out how to prolong the wave state without tipping into total overload/fatigue. My boyfriend often describes that fatigued as a buzzing sensation and is pretty wiped after a session.

Cheers!

Over the last few months my boyfriend and I (MM) have been exploring prostate-focused play way more intentionally, and honestly it’s been one of the wildest sexual experiences either of us has ever had — physically and emotionally.

What kicked this whole thing off was completely accidental.

We were high, fooling around, and while I was sucking him off I started fingering him casually. We weren’t trying to induce a prostate orgasm — I honestly didn’t even know what one was. I just thought it felt good for him.

At first he mostly just seemed intrigued by the sensations (he’s vers and already likes anal). Then he started saying he felt like he needed to pee. He’s into watersports and we were both high enough that I honestly didn’t care if a little piss happened, so I kept going gently while telling him to relax and just let himself feel whatever his body was doing.

Then things escalated fast.

His hole started contracting rhythmically and involuntarily around my fingers. Thick creamy mucus/fluid started getting expressed and his breathing went rapid and shallow. He kept saying things like “I think something’s happening” and “this is too much.”

At one point he asked me to stop because the sensations were overwhelming, but it was also obvious he was experiencing intense pleasure and just didn’t understand what the hell his body was doing. So I slowed down, kept talking to him calmly, and told him to breathe and relax into it.

Then he basically became completely unglued.

His whole body started shaking and pulsing rhythmically. His prostate got dramatically bigger and started pushing really obviously against my fingers. He kept saying things like “I feel like I’m drowning” while simultaneously sobbing/moaning from pleasure. I’m not exaggerating when I say I briefly wondered if he was having some kind of seizure because I had never seen anything remotely like it before.

What followed was his first hands-free dry orgasm, which lasted what felt like 3 minutes straight.

After that his body entered this insanely reactive “wave” state where repeated orgasms became ridiculously easy to trigger. I made him cum like that 4 more times before he finally told me if we didn’t stop he felt like he was literally going to drown in it.

Half an hour later in the shower he got curious and asked if I could do it again. I slid one finger back into him and triggered another orgasm in under a minute. He was still that sensitive.

Since then we’ve started intentionally exploring this and learning a ton.
One practical thing we figured out pretty quickly is that my fingers get exhausted before his prostate does 😅 so we’ve started experimenting with toys too. We picked up an Aneros Progasm Jr and a couple curved glass toys to help with edging, sustained stimulation, and just generally keeping him “in the zone” without my hands cramping to death.

What’s wild is how position-dependent his responses are. For example, when he’s upright on his knees with his back straight instead of folded forward, his whole body reacts differently. His prostate seems way easier to engage in that posture and he starts producing huge amounts of clear fluid from his cock. At first we thought it was just pee or precum, but the volume is honestly absurd and it doesn’t really behave or smell like urine either. It’s clear, not yellow, and has this weird slightly sweet/nutty almond-like smell instead. In that position he’ll literally leak and pulse fluid repeatedly while his pelvic floor contracts.

A few other things we’ve learned:

Position matters WAY more than we expected.
- His prostate sits more at 2 o’clock while supine, but shifts a ton with position changes.
- Rhythmic stimulation works way better for him than static pressure.
- Once his prostate engorges, his orgasm threshold drops dramatically.
- After the first orgasm, edging becomes almost impossible because his body starts cycling automatically.
- The most I’ve gotten so far is 9 HFDOs back-to-back with less than a minute between them before he finally needed a break.
Relaxation/headspace matter more than any “technique.”
- Weed definitely helps him stop mentally fighting the sensations, though we can now do this sober too.
- Alternating between intense burst sessions and slower exploratory sessions works much better than trying to go full max-output every time.

One especially crazy thing we discovered is what happens if I fuck him after I get him into that cycling state with my fingers.

Before all this, sex was great but normal. Now once he’s had a couple hands-free dry orgasms, his body basically turns into this insanely sensitive feedback loop. His prostate gets huge and reactive and then every thrust just keeps setting him off again.
Like genuinely, once he’s in that state he’ll start shaking and orgasming over and over while I’m fucking him. It’s honestly absurd.

And from my side it’s wild too because you can physically feel what’s happening. His prostate basically throbs and pushes against my cock with every contraction. It feels completely different from normal penetration — like his whole pelvis is involuntarily milking itself around you while he’s trying to hold onto reality.

Curious whether other people here have experienced:
- the “drowning” sensation before orgasm
- involuntary pelvic contractions
- rapid post-first-orgasm cycling
- or huge differences between rhythmic stimulation vs static pressure.

Also interested in hearing from people who’ve figured out how to prolong the wave state without tipping into total overload/fatigue. My boyfriend often describes that fatigued as a buzzing sensation and is pretty wiped after a session.

Cheers!

Just curious. I have pretty thick thighs that like to rub against each other and chafe. Any issues with this and the jockey thong?

Looking for some advice from people who’ve used both versions of the Eupho.

I started with the Progasm Jr., but it was just too large for me. It was uncomfortable, and I found it restricted movement and never really clicked.

I switched to the Helix Syn Trident, and that completely changed things. It’s become my go-to toy. I really enjoy the hands-free “auto-fuck” motion, and it moves really well with my body. But I hate that I can’t use my Swiss Navy Silicone lube that I love with it.

Since so many people rave about it, I picked up the Helix Syn V. I liked it, but I wasn’t blown away. The vibrations were fine, but I actually felt like the slightly larger body dampened some of the movement that I enjoy most.

Now I’m thinking about trying the Eupho because it’s slimmer and everyone says it has even better mobility.

My question is: is the Eupho Syn V worth it or is it also bigger and clunky for movement. And if you recommend the non-vibrating trident should I just go straight for the original hard-plastic Eupho Trident?

For those who’ve tried both, does the plastic version noticeably reduce the movement compared with the silicone one, or is the difference pretty minor?

Thanks!

Tried my first plug—the Njoy Pure Plug Medium—and wow. Quick lube-up, slid right in, and it kept this really nice, constant pressure on my prostate. It honestly stayed in place better than I expected and made it easy to relax into the sensations. I ended up switching over to my wand afterwards, and I’m already looking forward to another session before bed.

That said… I also had a bit of a panic on my second use.
At one point the plug and handle got sucked up past my anal sphincter and into my rectum. I freaked out worried I was about to become one of those emergency department stories. I work at a hospital, so the thought of my coworkers discovering why I was there was absolutely mortifying. Eventually I calmed myself down and relaxed my sphincters and was able to fish it out.

Has anyone else had this happen with the Medium? Is there a trick to preventing it from migrating so far in? I considered tying a ribbon around the base, but I’ve honestly been a little hesitant to use it again since the experience.