Nimble black paws spread their slender fingers over the cool porcelain of the bathroom sink. The light was off, only the dull glimmer from the hall cast any sort of illumination onto that black mask which starred back from the polished surface of the mirror. His toes digging into the damp rug beneath his feet, Zeke stifled a yawn and heaved his gravid frame back from the sink. His eyes, brown, glittering in the low light, would dance from his reflection to the copious swell of his expanding middle. Slowly, he placed a hand on his belly, letting his palm slide down the ripe curve of his distended hump. Beneath the long tee shirt which was his sole garment, his navel would strive to thrust itself from the thin fabric. His once flat chest was now flabby with the milky peaches of his maternal girth. Frowning, the raccoon would bring another hand to explore his widening hip. He had become so fat and plush with his growing pregnancy. His ass, once a tight pair of firm globes, was now like two mounds of fresh dough, dimpled and sagging within the confines of the pink panties which struggled to contain his stiffening member. His hands returning to the sink, his bushy tail swished behind him and Zeke sighed, feeling every bit the weight which sank low in his heavy belly.

His fur was soaked through with sweat, the scent filling the bathroom, making him wriggle his black snout as he inhaled the aroma of his mounting lust. The hormones had been stirring that evening, driving the raccoon from his bed. Creeping softly, he had stolen into the bathroom, there to lay his hot face against the coolness of the glass. But such was not enough to quell the furnace which raged hot within his gravid belly. The life within him stirred, kicking in protest to make his flesh bubble. Wincing, he placed a hand to his stomach, feeling the movements of the unborn within him, shifting, seeking always to find its way out into the world. 

“Not yet,” he whispered. “You still have a few more months to go.” His grey and white face fell into a frown. His eyes, set within that black mask, turning then to his bloated belly. “Oh, and that means I’ll be dealing with you for those months, won’t I?”

His hands tucked beneath his belly, Zeke allowed his maternal frame to slump onto the toilet. The raccoon leaned back, his head pressing against the wall, as he felt his heart hammering within his breast. He needed something, someone. Anyone would do. 

“Oh, I can’t take this anymore,” he whined. “I got to get this pent up tension out of me.”

His cock throbbed within the confines of his panties, the flimsy material stretching to its utmost as the pink garment fought valiantly to contain that rising girth of shivering flesh. His balls were fattened with fresh seed, the maternal rush of hormones sending his poor body into overdrive. The massager he had placed beside his bed, the one which he could not possibly show his roommate, now lay forlorn and neglected. The hateful device could no longer satisfy his cravings. Zeke sat up, his ears swiveling. Down the hall, he caught the fateful sounds of gunfire, followed by the shrill high-pitched cry of a female voice. Within an instant, Zeke was on his feet, his tail bristling in expectation. 

“Quorol,” he giggled. “He’s still awake.”

Tip-toeing carefully into the hall, clutching his belly like a stolen parcel, the pregnant raccoon crept in the direction of the shouting and explosions. The walls of the hallway were white, the carpet a fine cream which was soft beneath the pads of his bare feet. A crisp, white light spilled from the end of the corridor, opening into the livingroom. There, the wide screen of the television blared its harsh glow. Blue-white radiance cast itself upon the taut, athletic form of a feline seated on the couch. His fur was a chocolate brown, except for the white around his short muzzle and running down his chin and chest to spill across his belly. Zeke licked his lips, wondering just how far that creamy whiteness would travel. Perhaps, he wondered, it came all the way down into Quorol’s inner thighs. The cat was leaning back against the cough, one arm slung casually over the back, the other clasping a mug which smelled of the bitter brew of dark coffee. The rich scent played in his nostrils, tingling on his tongue and Zeke turned, lamenting the absence of that heady drink. He had not been able to enjoy coffee in so long. Even now, his pregnant belly would threaten to rebel, the sour tang of acid bubbling up in his throat as he turned back to the reclining feline. 

His roommate and close friend, Quorol, had not noticed him. The cat’s glittering green eyes were locked straight ahead, his attention focused on the old black and white movie which was playing on the monolithic screen before him. His long, muscular legs were elevated on the coffee table, his feet bare. His clawed toes curled, opening and closing as he brought the steaming mug to his lips. Such lips they were, thought the raccoon. Pink and glistening, they closed gently around the rim of the cup, letting the dark coffee seep into Quorol’s mouth. The raccoon’s black hands clasped the corner of the wall, his gravid frame leaning from the hallway and into the livingroom. His nostril’s flaring, Zeke let his eyes travel from the brown head, with its white muzzle, to descend to the broad chest, clad in a simple tee shirt of navy blue. 

The muscles of Quorol’s pectorals filled that thin garment in such a way that made the raccoon’s heart flutter, his belly trembling as the heat of his maternal lust grew hotter. His fat cheeks were parting, his flower opening to gush its fragrant nectar. Giving a start, he reached back, discovering the damp stain which was rapidly growing across the seat of his underwear. Zeke’s tail swayed behind him and the raccoon took a cautious step into the room. Could he, dare he? Another step, he was so close now. If he but reached out with a single hand, his fingers would fall upon the arm. Visions of that strong, well-toned appendage filled his eyes, his fingers tingling, practically feeling the strength beneath them. Like steel cables, he mused, strong and yet supple. Quorol was always an athlete, always striving to build himself up. Zeke bit his lower lip, full and black as midnight. If only the cat would be willing to provide him with a workout.

“Zeke?” came a low, granite voice. 

The raccoon gave a sudden start, nearly leaping from his own skin. A hand on his breast to slow his pounding heart, Zeke collapsed against the wall, his pregnant belly heaving as he gulped the cool night air. 

“O-Oh, Quorol,” the raccoon stammered. “You nearly frightened me to death. I think my water almost broke.”

From where he sat, the cat smiled, revealing his white, if somewhat coffee stained teeth. “Well, I’m not cleaning up if you give birth right here in the livingroom.” He sat up, removing his feet from the coffee table. “Hey, was I being too loud? I can turn it down if you want.”

“No, that’s not it,” replied Zeke. “Um, truth is, I couldn’t really get to sleep.” Nibbling on the claw of his thumb, he averted his gaze from the cat. “Quorol, you mind if I just sat down beside you? F-For a little while, anyway?”

The cat placed his mug on the coffee table and chuckled. It was a low, gravelly sort of a sound, the type of throaty purr which made the morning following a night of lovemaking all that more satisfying. Zeke felt his knees beginning to turn to jelly, knocking together as he braced himself on the arm of the couch. 

“It’s your place too,” said Quorol. “You can sit wherever you want.”

“I-I suppose you’re right,” said Zeke. 

The gravid raccoon stumbled around the couch, careful so as not to trip over the cat’s feet and with a grunt, flopped onto the cushion beside his roommate. His pregnant belly swelled over his lap, his navel nearly even his knees as he leaned back into the plush cushioning. His black paws came to rest on his swelling middle, their nimble fingers twitching nervously as he drew his legs together. The television continued to glimmer with the shapes of moving figures, scenes of gunfire and daring rescues. 

“Another old movie?” asked Zeke. 

“I like them,” said Quorol, taking another sip.

The raccoon smiled, his fingers slipping down the ripe curve of his belly. “I know you do,” he said. “I like them too.” Turning his brown gaze to the cat, he then frowned. Shaking his head, he said, “I don’t know how you can drink that stuff so late at night.”

This brought another throaty purr from the cat. “You work enough night shifts I suppose,” he said, setting the mug back down. “But, Zeke, I want to know more about you. How have you been doing?” He turned to the raccoon, his green eyes, like living emeralds, falling down to the gravid orb which was Zeke’s belly. “You know, when you first told me about this surrogacy, I thought you were crazy.” His lips curled back, revealing his pointed fangs. “But seeing you now, like this. Well, I guess maybe I was wrong.”

“You were?” the raccoon squeaked. Zeke’s heart suddenly flew into his throat. His body was humming now, preparing to burst with a barely contained excitement. 

“Yeah,” said the cat. “You, uh, you look good. Something has changed, you know.” Quorol ran a hand down the back of his scruffy neck. “You seem different, happier I guess. Like, maybe this is what you should be doing.”

“Should be?” Zeke had leaned over, his palms spread upon the cushion as he turned his wide, motherly hips. His bushy tail curled in the air above him, curving into a black and grey question mark as he felt the heat bloom on his cheeks. “I-In what way?”

The cat gnawed his lower lip and crossed his arms over his broad chest. “Well, this whole child bearing thing, it suits you,” he said. “You look good like that, Zeke. You seem like a new raccoon, is all.”

“Really?” Zeke’s heart was thudding so hard in his ears that he could no longer hear the sounds which drifted from the television. “You mean that?”

“Hey, don’t get any ideas,” laughed Quorol. “You just seem happy now, is what I mean.”

Zeke sat back on the couch, drawing his knees up to his swollen belly. He could scarcely repress the grin which spread across his face. His eyes glimmered like sparkling gems within the blackness of his furry mask. 

“So, you like me when I look like this?” he asked. He seized the hem of his shirt and tugged, slipping the fabric over the ripe swell of his gravid belly. Laid bare, his swollen middle was a vast, steely orb of soft, round flesh which ballooned over his thighs. “You want to rub it?”

Quorol’s ears pricked up and for an instant, the cat appeared to be struck dumb. Then, with a lazy grin spreading over his face, his whiskers twitching, he leaned across the couch. Both hands, strong, hard hands, came to rest upon the gravid hump that was Zeke’s middle. The raccoon let out a sharp gasp as those powerful fingers came to press against his delicate flesh. 

“I can’t say no to a friend’s belly rub,” the cat said. Slowly, his fingers slid through the grey fur, rasping gently in the tangled weave of steely grey. “I can’t believe how big you are,” he said. “How many was it?”

“It was just one,” said Zeke. 

He smiled, relishing in the gentle strength of his friend. How he craved Quorol’s touch, the manly fingers which so casually circled his distended navel. Time and again, the cat would absently brush the erect nub of a black nipple, the tender buds just breaking the grey surface like a pod of whales breaching that placid slate sea. Such a sensation would stir the raccoon’s desires, stoking the fires which burned so hot in his belly. His fur was becoming damp with sweat, his mouth hanging slack as he panted quietly, unable to take his eyes off the cat. 

“B-But it was a wolf couple, so the baby will be big,” the raccoon stammered. 

“I’ll say,” Quorol replied. His clawed fingers were slipping down the raccoon’s lower belly, tickling his flesh with those curved talons. “You’re going to be huge by the time it’s all over.”

“I-I know,” said Zeke. He was sliding back, falling across the arm of the sofa as Quorol’s fingers rose, coming to slide up the slope of his gravid mound, grasping his belly with both hands to fill those eager palms. 

“I’ve never really felt a pregnant belly before,” mused the cat. “I can feel the baby moving.” He was leaning over now, his lips so deliciously, dangerously close to the raccoon’s distended navel. “It’s quite a feeling.”

“I-It is,” said Zeke. “You should feel it when the baby is inside you.” 

Gripping the edge of the couch, he then sat up, his belly looming before him, a mountain of grey behind which the cat was carefully gliding a single finger along the dark stripe which was his linea nigra. Zeke’s cock stirred, growing more erect, rising up from his panties as the feline’s hand wandered so close to his wiry pubic fur. 

“U-Um, Quorol…”

For an instant, the hand stopped and the cat’s brown and white face appeared over the hump of Zeke’s belly. “What is it?”

Bringing a knuckle to his lips, Zeke turned from the inquisitive gaze of his dearest friend. Dare he say it? His heart thundered in his breast, his very body shaking there on the couch. He needed it so badly, those hands -- such good hands they were -- and the cat’s strong body against his, but to come out and say it? Those mere words, they could be enough to destroy their friendship if Quorol said no. But if he said nothing, Zeke knew that he was going to burst from the pressure of his swelling need. Screwing up his courage, Zeke turned back to the face of his friend. 

“Listen,” said the raccoon. “I… I need something from you. I’ve been so pent up, so hot lately that I feel like I’m going to burst.”

Quorol had pulled his hands away and was now sitting back on the couch. 

“Please,” begging the raccoon. Zeke rolled over, his belly sagging to the cushions as he knelt on hands and knees, his bulk sinking deep into the couch. His brown eyes sparkled, seeming to have grown to the size of saucers. Reflecting the glare of the television, those orbs gleamed like polished silver. “You’re such a good friend. Always there to support me.” Tears were glimmering in the corners of his eyes, spilling crystalline droplets down his furry cheeks. “So, maybe just for tonight?”

Quorol’s ears parted, his whiskered bristling. “Zeke? What are you trying to say?” 

The cat’s pink tongue darted between his lips as he pushed himself back until his lower back was pressed against the arm of the couch. Still, the gravid body of his friend was crawling closer, like a pregnant fiend squirming from out of his old movies. 

Zeke gulped, feeling his throat tighten as he said, “I want you to fuck me, Quorol. Please, just for tonight. I need it so badly.” The raccoon broke into a sob. “The hormones, you have no idea how bad it is. I can’t, Quorol. I can’t take it anymore.” Weeping freely, he brought a hand to his muzzle. Mucus glistened between his fingers as the raccoon gave a snort. “I can’t get any relief. I can’t sleep anymore. No one told me how hard it would be.”

“Zeke, I--”

“It’s just tonight,” the raccoon pleaded. “We don’t have to talk about it ever again. Y-You don’t even have to kiss me, um, unless you want to.” 

With the arm of the couch pushing into his back, the frightened feline had nowhere to flee. The raccoon’s hands were on Quorol’s shoulders now, fingers curling, claws pricking at his unprotected flesh as the maternal hump that was Zeke’s swollen belly pressed into his stomach. The distended navel rubbed against his lower belly, making Quorol’s manhood suddenly stir as the velvet softness of that rounded middle began to rock with the shifting of Zeke’s hips. The raccoon was straddling him, sitting fully in his lap. The warmth of Zeke’s rump radiated onto Quorol’s thighs, the quivering of the raccoon’s member pulsed as he leaned into his friend. 

“Please,” whispered Zeke. His lower lip quaked as he looked into the green eyes of the cat. “I need it so badly.”

The raccoon’s breath billowed upon Quorol’s muzzle, hot and wet, smelling faintly minty from Zeke’s toothpaste. His hands trembling, Quorol seized the wide hips of the pregnant raccoon, planning to shove the mad creature away, but he stopped, gazing instead into those brown orbs. The sclera were bloodshot, crossed with the delicate red threads of so many veins. It looked as if the raccoon had been crying all night, so crimson were they. Beneath his black fur, Zeke was sporting a fine set of purple bags, sagging down his cheeks. His gravid body fell against the cat’s chest, his tender breasts heaving as he held the feline’s gaze. The warmth of jiggling flesh filled Quorol’s palms, made so wondrously soft by the raccoon’s maternal padding. His fingers began to splay, closing around Zeke’s hips so that bubbling fur and fat squished between his claws. 

“O-Oh,” moaned the raccoon. “Q-Quorol? Quorol, are you going to answer me?”

The cat blinked, giving a sudden start. His lips were hovering so close to the mouth of his friend, a mere breath away from meeting that honeyed chalice, the softness of those glistening lips, black as midnight and faintly wet. 

“Will you do it?” asked Zeke. Biting his lower lip, the raccoon turned from the eyes of the cat. “Y-You’re the only one I would want to do it with, you know. I feel safer with you.”

Swallowing back the lump in his throat, Quorol gave a nervous cough. His hands were sliding up Zeke’s hips, coming to the swell of that gravid belly, feeling once more the ripeness of the raccoon’s bloated stomach. His ears parted, drooping as the cat began to think. 

“I’ll do it,” he said at last. “For you, Zeke. I’ll do it.”

Those brown eyes glittered with such an expression of joy that Quorol had never seen before. The type of look that one only sees on their wedding day. Fresh tears streamed down the grey cheeks of the raccoon. 

“Quorol, you mean it? Oh, thank you so much.” 

Zeke’s words came up in hiccupping sobs. Arms wound around the cat’s neck, he flung himself against his friend, his belly rolling along the rippling abdominals of Quorol, his milky breasts sloshing against the feline’s broad chest. 

“You don't know what this means to me,” Zeke squealed. “U-Um, but we’re just friends, so it’s only for tonight.”

“Uh, right,” replied the cat. “So, how do we start?”

Giving a swish of his bushy tail, Zeke sat up. His black hands on Quorol’s chest, his ears swiveled for an instant before saying, “Um, like normal, I guess. This isn’t your first time, right?”

“It is with you,” said Quorol, taking the raccoon by the wrists. “So how should we begin?”

The raccoon pursed his lips into a thin, bloodless line and thought. “I could start by running my fingers through the fur on your chest. Yes, that sounds good. It’s so relaxing and will help get us into the mood. Just, uh, lift up your shirt.”

Quorol obeyed, sliding his tee shirt up from his rippling stomach. The waves of raw muscle flowed and undulated like that of a creamy, white sea. Zeke’s heart thudded against his ribs as he laid eyes on the cat’s belly, his slender manhood rising, straining against the confines of his panties, threatening to come leaping free at any moment. The back of his underwear was growing uncomfortably wet as he tilted his hips forward, thrusting his belly towards Quorol. His fingers came to fall upon the hard muscle of the cat’s stomach, claws digging into the white fur. Slowly, he slid his hands up Quorol’s belly, coming to spread across the firm pectorals. His entire body was aflame with a primitive desire, an urge to be bred by this specimen of male power. 

“I guess I should go too,” said Quorol. “Um, I’ll put my hands on your belly. You like that, right?”

“Oh, yes,” purred the raccoon. “Please, Quorol, grab my fat, pregnant belly with your strong, hard hands.”

“My what?” the cat stammered. 

His ears pricking up, Zeke felt the heat bloom in his cheeks. “I-I mean, yes, I would like that very much.”

He turned from the cat, lowering his hot face into the hollow of Quorol’s collarbone. Meanwhile, the strong fingers of the cat were on his belly, sinking deep, running along the ripe curve of his swollen middle. Down, Quorol plunged, slipping around the raccoon’s navel, his thumbs swirling, nudging that hump which raised itself from Zeke’s belly. Descending, he would come to the raccoon’s lower belly. The wiry scruff of Zeke’s pubic fur was just beginning to grow out, tracing a shaggy path down into the abyss of his panties. 

“I’m going to give your lower belly a rub,” said Quorol. “How is this?”

His hands were circling, moving slowly, gently, making every nerve cry out in shrieking ecstasy. Hard thumbs pressed into his belly, reducing Zeke to a quivering mound of whimpering jelly. 

“I’m not going too hard, am I?” asked Quorol. 

“Mmm, no,” whispered the raccoon. “O-Oh, that’s divine. My lower belly is so sensitive right now. Please, keep going. You can feel the baby if you want.”

A smile curled Quorol’s lips, seeing the way his friend shivered in his arms. Raccoon looked so small, so delicate laying against him. His grey thighs were wrapped around the cat’s waist, hugging him as Quorol began to work his fingers around the raccoon’s lower belly. 

“Here, I’ll try just my fingertips.” His voice was lowering into a throaty rumble, a deep resonant sound which poured into Zeke’s ear like a fine, dark brandy. 

Those very fingertips swirled, the rasp of grey fur a chorus to the noise which leaked from the television. Zeke lifted his head, his lips quivering as he sought to bring pleasure to the cat. 

“I-I’ll scratch your chest,” he said. “That should feel good.”

His claws disappeared the creamy white fur of Quorol’s chest, parting the sea of albin hair. The soft sounds of his fingers rose, joining the tender movements of his friend. 

“Oh, that does feel nice,” said Quorol. “Real nice.”

The cat’s hands stopped, then slid around Zeke’s belly, coming to rest upon his wide, round hips. Quorol rose up the panting sides of the raccoon, his fingers exploring the swell of his friend’s belly, the shallow ridges that were his ribs. Gently, he slid back down, rustling the grey fur as Zeke trembled in his hands. The raccoon was sliding down the cat’s belly, his hands finding the ripples of Quorol’s abdominals. His cock throbbed, demanding to be set free and Zeke wondered if Quorol could feel him growing hard. His nimble hands flew to the waist of the cat’s jeans, snapping the button and claiming the tab of the zipper. Slowly, he pulled, sliding the zipper down to expose the thin fabric of Quorol’s underwear. 

Quorol’s fingers were running down Zeke’s spine, tracing the indent of his backbone to come to the waistband of the raccoon’s panties. His claws plucked at the flimsy garment, the sharp snap of elastic bringing a moan to Zeke’s lips. The raccoon’s fingers came to the waistband of Quorol’s underwear feeling the hot hardness of the cat’s growing erection. A blush suffused his cheeks beneath his fur, for he found some joy in knowing that he was able to bring his friend to arousal. Quorol shifted his hips, his pants quickly becoming uncomfortably tight as the pregnant belly of Zeke pressed against his stomach. So soft and round, that sweetly maternal hump filled the cat with a strange sort of lust. His hands dipped beneath the fabric of the raccoon’s panties, claiming the fat, jiggling cheeks within. Zeke arched his back with sudden gasp, his eyes growing wide as hard fingers sank into the wobbling mounds of his rump. 

“Oh wow,” remarked the cat. His hands were kneading the raccoon’s ass like two lumps of fresh dough. “These have gotten so soft and fat.”

“I-It’s the hormones,” whined Zeke. “Oh, the weight is the worst.”

“I don’t know,” said the cat. “I kind of like it. They fill up the palm so nicely and--” His face suddenly changed, his eyes growing wide for a moment as his fingers crept between the sodden cheeks. “And you are so wet. Is that just from tonight?”

“I told you,” shrieked Zeke. “I’m so desperate, Quorol. Don’t laugh at me.”

His fingers slid between the damp pillows of Zeke’s rump, squelching softly as he plucked those glistening claws free. The honeyed scent of the raccoon’s musky aroma clung to his fingers as he slipped from the pink panties to run his wet claws up Zeke’s back. 

“I’m more curious about the panties,” said Quorol. “Why pink?”

“They were all that fit me,” replied Zeke. “And… I like pink.”

Quorol chuckled deep in his broad chest, his hands grasping the hem of the raccoon’s shirt to raise the garment over Zeke’s milky breasts. Those perfect apricots fell free, sagging above the raccoon’s belly. Each was tipped with a glistening black jewel that was a rigid nipple. Tender stem begged to be twisted and plucked, glimmering with a white bead of fresh milk that made Quorol’s whiskers bristle. His hands came to those shapely mounds, cupping each breast gently. Zeke closed his eyes, his lips curling into a broad smile as the warmth of those masterful palms caressed his tits. 

“O-Oh, Quorol,” he sighed. “Oh, yes. I love that.”

“Do you?” the cat replied. “Then, what if I did this?”

His thumbs came to circle the bumpy black flesh, flicking at the firm buds that were Zeke’s erect nipples. The raccoon purred softly, his hips beginning to rock as his tail swayed like a palm frond behind him. His belly pressed into Quorol’s stomach, the nipples which crowned that maternal globe rising up to prod at the cat’s flesh as Quorol sought to pluck those delicate nubs. Pinching and twisting, the cat would make the raccoon shudder. His mouth falling open in a silent scream of utter elation, Zeke could only shiver, helpless in the hands of his friend, his lover. His slender cock throbbed, disgorging the first shimmering spurt of hot precum to stain the front of his panties. His fingers plucked at the waistband of Quorol’s underwear, claws dipping into the damp heat of the cat’s tangled pubic fur, seeking that rising pillar of masculine beauty which strained against Quorol’s pants. 

“Quorol,” Zeke uttered in a breathless whisper. “Mmm, I want to touch your cock. May I?”

The question gave Quorol pause. A tingle ran down the back of his neck as he still cupped those sweetly leaking pears. Threads of white were trickling from Zeke’s nipples, his milk having been coaxed to flow by the cat’s tender caress. 

“I guess you can,” said Quorol. “I mean, if we are going to go all the way, you’ll be feeling it one way or the other.” He gave an embarrassed grin. “Just don’t grab it too hard.”

Zeke’s hands slipped beneath the cat’s underwear, his fingers groping, seeking that throbbing pillar. Quorol leaned back on the arm of the sofa, allowing the raccoon to sit on his thighs. The questing fingers grazed the pulsing shaft, tracing the swelling veins which pumped their hot rich blood. He would not dare to admit it, but Quorol had never been so hard as he was tonight. The weight of his friend in his lap, the scent of his sweat and the musky odor of his fur drifting into his nostrils had stirred something within the cat. With a delicate touch, Zeke pulled back the cat’s underwear, his hand dipping beneath the churning balls which rested, plump and ready, within the furry scrotum. Slowly, the raccoon lifted that quivering shaft free, the flesh pink, like Quorol’s lips. The velvet glans glistened with a sheen of flowing precum, trickling down the undershaft to seep into the fur on Quorol’s balls. Zeke licked his lips, feeling his belly quake as he would run a finger down the cat’s cock. Quorol gave a shudder, his hands squeezing Zeke’s breasts. The raccoon returned a groan, his fingertips grazing the hot, swollen flesh. How he had yearned to feel that very rod slip through his sweaty fingers. His claws curled around that shaft, relishing the threading of blue veins which pulsed beneath his palm. With his other hand, the raccoon would cup the churning balls, squeezing ever so slightly with thumb and forefinger. 

Quorol moaned through his flaring nostrils, his eyes falling closed. His hands trembled as they fought to cling to the raccoon’s breasts, his arms shaking while Zeke’s fingers closed around his cock, the raccoon beginning to pump with slow, purposeful strokes. 

“Just a slow up and down.” The raccoon’s nimble fingers slid up the quivering shaft, his thumb circling the weeping tip. “Nice and slow. You like that?”

Ripples of purest ecstasy raced up his spine, the cat arching his back, his shoulders poised against the arm of the couch as he fought to hold back the wave of bubbling desire which churned in his fattening balls. Zeke’s other hand continued to work at the feline’s scrotum, rolling his testicals like they were two ripe plums. With thumb and forefinger, the raccoon would squeeze ever so slightly, enough to send crashing over Quorol wave after wave of sheer bliss. His velvet tip wept its shimmering precum, those bitter tears seeping into the black fur of Zeke’s hand, making his fingers sticky and shiny as he slid back down the engorged member. 

“I’m going to give a little squeeze,” said the raccoon. He leaned over Quorol’s lap, his pregnant belly coming to rest on the cat’s shuddering stomach. “Just like this.”

“O-Oh,” moaned Quorol. 

Zeke ran his hand up that pink rod, closing around the pulsating flesh, squeezing just enough to elicit a whimper from the feline as he came to the glistening tip. There, he released his hold, slipping down once more, his hands concealed by the prodigious swell of his gravid belly. His middle bloated over Quorol’s stomach, a vast orb of steel grey which loomed before the cat’s vision, he not closed his eyes in sheer pleasure. His strength rapidly failing, Quorol fought to hold on, grasping at the swaying breasts of his dear friend, clinging onto those milky globes for dear life. The television flickered at that moment, the heroes engaged in a rollicking battle as flashing lasers seared the cardboard sets. Tin-plate saucers clashed with tubular rockets as Quorol fell from those blessed peaks. His clawed hands collapsed upon the ripe swell of Zeke’s belly, scrabbling at the curve of that maternal hump, seeking desperately for anything to hold onto. He was falling, sinking down into that dark, turbulent sea. The tides of utter jubilation were tugging him ever farther from the benighted shore, setting him adrift as his head swam on the giddy currents. 

“Ugh, Zeke,” moaned Quorol. “Oh, I didn’t know you were so dexterous.”

The raccoon, smiling, leaned even more against the cat. His unborn shifted, protesting the cramped conditions. Tiny feet fluttered within his bloated womb, kicking out to set his belly to bubble and quake in Quorol’s hands. Beneath that gravid globe, Zeke’s hands were working faster, his pace quickening. With sure, quick strokes, the raccoon sought to bring his dear friend to whimpering elation. Gazing over the swell of his middle, Zeke could not repress the grin which spread across his face. Quorol opened his eyes, his fingers working at the raccoon’s belly. His claws dug into the soft maternal flesh, gaining a hold as his balls threatened to erupt in Zeke’s hands. 

“I didn’t realize you were so sensitive,” said Zeke. His fingers slid up the sticky, glistening shaft. “Mmm, you’ve not had anyone for a while, it seems.”

His face blushing beneath his fur, Quorol would reply, “You know that. If I had someone, you would have seen her.”

The raccoon’s shoulders shook with quiet laughter. “I know, going through a bit of a dry spell, it seems.”

“What about you?” snapped Quorol. “I haven't seen you with anyone lately.”

The raccoon stopped, his thumb just meeting the feline’s glimmering tip. His lips trembled, the words stuck on his tongue, as if they feared to be spoken. “Me? I-I… That is, I mean to say…”

What did he mean to say? Straddling Quorol, his best friend, the cat he had known for years, feeling the raw strength, the pungent scent of his fur. His hand slid down the perfect, hard cock of the cat, relishing in the warmth of his flesh, the power in that pulsing organ. Zeke licked his lips, but he could not bear to say it. Not even to himself. No, Quorol was just a friend, a good friend who wished to help him feel better. Surely that was all.

“I guess we’re both out of practice,” Quorol finally said. 

His hands slid down Zeke’s belly, fingers finding the hardened buds that were the erect nipples. 

“I forgot you had these on your stomach,” he said. “Nice little things they are.”

Strong, hard fingers flicked at those weeping buds, coaxing the milk to flow down Zeke’s belly. Sodden fur rustled as Quorol ran his hands around the gravid sphere that was the raccoon’s middle. Meanwhile, Zeke had resumed his stroking, working faster, his body quaking as he rocked his wide hips, grinding his cock against the cat’s thighs. Did Quorol feel his slender manhood against his leg? It mattered not, for Zeke was panting, growing hot and ready. His body was coming alive in Quorol’s hands, his one desire to bring pleasure to the feline. He needed it, more than anything. Faster he worked, his nimble paws rising and falling, bringing Quorol ever closer to that final climax. His belly hungered, his body a living flame which threatened to burn him up. They were just friends, he had to remind himself. Nothing but that, just friends finding comfort in one another. And comfort was something he so desperately needed.