Aether High. It’s a rich and unusual school, filled with colorful faces and beings of wildly esoteric skills. However, hardly any could be called as colorful as the strutting, shades-wearing, violet-colored birdman that hummed his way through the halls, jiving to some tune only he could hear. He beams a smile at the edges of his beak, and as a fellow student gives him an accidental glance, he tilts his shades down below his eyes in order to offer a wink. He’s met with a scoff from the disgruntled student, but he doesn’t let that get to him, no. Wrastor moved on, walking on with what could only be described as an unstoppable confidence.

An ‘Unstoppable Confidence’ that felt like catnip to a certain Orca-creature. From the edge of the hall, black beady eyes follow the fluffed-out feathers from afar. A smug smile pulls up at the edges of the Orca’s mouth. If there was one thing that made Orcane feel truly in his element, it was to ruffle the feathers of those that sought to fly a little too high.

Meanwhile, the oblivious Wrastor entertained himself with giving his best finger-guns at a gathering of idle students. Beaming, he greets, “Heeeey sweet melodies, would you care to dance in my ears, and sweep me off my feet? Which one of you all thinks themselves smooth enough to glide with these wings, hmm?”

His attempted smooth-talk is met with either sighs, snorts of amusement, or a blank look of confusion. No answer came, and Wrastor’s ever-present grin began to lose some of its spark. “Ah...”

“--How’s anyone supposed to glide if you won’t show them the ride!” Orcane’s voice cuts through the silence. The unexpected shout brings him to jump up with a squawk, and before he knew it, flipper-hands were gripping the edges of his shorts.

“Orcane wh--” And Orcane pulled down.

With an audible shuffle of cloth on cloth, Wrastor’s shorts are pulled down to his ankles, tight-fitting briefs shown to the world. Wrastor lets out a squawk of shock, face reddening deeper than the violet hue of his own feathers. His winged arms sweep down to try and cover himself, but the damage is done. His would-be audience cackles, and one fellow even snorts on his water-bottle. With a panicked, flustered fumble, Wrastor bends down to grab his shorts, and pull them back up again. “ORCANE!”

Wrastor pivots on clawed feet to scowl at the cackling Orcane, but just as he turns to face him, he feels that flipper hand cup against his now-covered crotch. Whatever furious outpouring he was about to unleash, Wrastor found his words choking up into his throat. Shocked, surprised, the wind is pulled from right beneath his wings as he’s face to face with Orcane’s grinning, smug face.

“Hey Wrastor, how’d you like that for a memorable assist?” Orcane pats at Wrastor’s crotch, feeling his shaft through the thin layer of cloth. “I don’t think everyone saw, though. Should we try again from this angle?--”

“Orcane!” Another student’s voice broke out, “You’re going too far!”

“Nonesense!” The Orca turned to look to the student in order to answer, casual and beaming all the while, “Wrastor’s a friend, he knows I’m just fucking with him. Right Wrast--?”

Orcane turns, and then sees nothing but a few floating purple feathers drifting in the air, floating in its own ballet towards the ground. Wrastor had fled the scene, speedier than ever. Orcane could only blink, then give a soft, “Huh.”

Meanwhile, the young birdman bolts to the bathroom, swearing under his breath. There’s a slam of the door behind him as he enters the men’s room. With a feathered hand, he shoves open a stall door, and fumbles the lock shut behind him. Sighing, Wrastor groans as he drops down to sit upon the toilet’s seat. He was angry, furious! And ... Glancing down, his own anger abruptly shifts to anger at himself, as his eyes meet the absolute throbbing tent pressing against the front of his shorts. Through what cloth kept him decent, his cock felt fully, painfully erect, and the flush of color only deepened over Wrastor’s face. He could feel every twitch against the cloth, and there was no way it was about to calm down before the class bell rings.

And against his better judgement, against his pride, he... doesn’t remember ever being this turned on. Something about having been victimized, targeted, he couldn’t put his finger on it. A mumble of, “What’s wrong with my head? Both heads, for the matter...” leaves his beak.

There wasn’t any way he would be able to get rid of the raging hard-on before class. It had to be dealt with, here and now. He cranes his neck, trying to peer through what cracks he could of the shoddy bathroom stall to ensure he’s alone... And then, he worked open his shorts, allowing his smooth, tapering cock to bounce out for air. Even then, he felt a sigh of relief as the member was allowed to twitch freely in its over excitement, the shining head already damp and ready. The skin of his shaft is almost as deep of a violet hue as his own feathers, but sleek with sensitive skin. Aroused in full, the member holds a slight curve into the air, flexing under the slightest jostle.

There was no avoiding it; he grips his own cock, and slowly begins to pump. His odd feather-fingers felt almost ticklish against his skin, but the firmer grip only made the feathers feel soft, almost silken against his shaft. Even after the first few pumps, he felt the pressure start to build. “Ah... Fff... Stupid ... Stupid Orcane, he just, hn, just had to, ah...” Wrastor moaned under his breath as his arm works back and forth. His gaze fell distant as he looked on at nothing, his mind cycling back through the still-fresh memories. The eyes on him, the hand at his cock, “And th-that stupid, asshole s-smile, Hngh...!”

The more he swore under his breath, the faster his hand pumped. His thumb traced along the rim of his cock’s head, pulling a sharp gasp from his slack-jawed beak. He was losing himself into the moment, his clawed feet opening and closing in his writhed fidget. The silent bathroom is soon filled with the sounds of Wrastor’s pumping shaft, fist gliding against skin in rhythmic thumps. His heavy breath matches the rhythm, stuttered under the occasional moan, hiss, or utterance of curses. Falling further and further into his own need, he was losing focus on needing to be quiet.

It’s about then that Orcane himself pushed open the bathroom door. He smiled his dopey whale-smile, still thinking back to the earlier shenanigans, when he hears his own name being called. Brought to a stop, his eyes widened. What was...? That was Wrastor’s voice. And there was the unmistakable clap-slap of sound echoing within the bathroom, none other than the sounds of palm hitting skin. Was Wrastor... Jacking off? To -him-?

Moving in, he leaned to try and peer between the cracks of the bathroom stalls. In the smallest of slits, there he saw the act itself. Wrastor panting, slack-jawed and moaning while his hand shifted to a near blur against his cock. Transfixed, Orcane completely forgets his own somewhat-pressing need to use the urinals himself. Stuck in place, there was no way he was missing this show. The edge of his mouth turns up into a grin, and he watches, his own cock giving an uncomfortable filling press against his inner thigh.

“Orc’ne...Or... ah, hah, --AHN!” Wrastor gasps, his back arching as his fingers slip over an especially sensitive edge of his cock. Gripping himself tight, his body gives in to a pleasured shiver as his cock erupts into wet strings of white. Bursts of his climax paint against the stall door in front of him, and a low groan leaves his chest on his exhale. Strings of white clung against the stall’s door, and soon dripped to the floor below, forming small puddles of his pent-up rage turned confused-lust.

He has perhaps but a moment to regain his senses, when the sounds of flippery fins slow-clapping, shatters his peace. If his flushed face couldn’t get any redder now, it was pushing the limits of what was physically possible for the birdman.

Orcane’s voice speaks from behind the stall, “Was that my name this whole time, Wrastor? And you came so fast! I had no idea you had such a thing for being a chew-toy, haha!”

“ORCANE! You -- I’m gonna--!!” With a fumble of movement, Wrastor pulls his shorts back up, and bolts out of the stall in order to confront Orcane. But, the struggle against his own clothing, and the stall’s lock, were the few seconds warning Orcane needed in order to bolt. His whale-cackle could still be heard through the halls as he left the public bathroom.

Not wanting to leave without cleaning up the evidence of his act, Wrastor fidgets in place, angered and wrestless. Twice now, twice he was the butt of Orcane’s jokes. Why was he even here?... Actually...

Realization dawns on Wrastor, along with a glimmer of inspiration. He eyes the small, shoddy bathroom. An evil smile tugs up the edges of his beak. Orcane likely came here to do business, but he doesn’t remember hearing any of that sort happening. Today’s exam day, so there would be very few bathroom breaks allowed ...

All it takes is a few spare rolls of toilet paper into the toilets in order for them to clog up. The singular urinal was a little trickier, but the thing was pretty shoddy to start with. All it takes is one kick and a pipe cracks, causing a small, but pressing, stream of water to hiss out and start pooling into the bathroom. The sabotage ought to keep the place on lockdown for the next few hours.

After cleaning himself (and the stall) up, Wrastor makes his way out, whistling.

Now he just had to get Orcane to drink.

This was going to be a little trickier. Orcane likely wouldn’t trust anything at all from Wrastor right now, even he knew this. The birdman left the sabotaged bathroom, thinking hard on his revenge plan. It’s then that Zetterburn’s voice broke through the hallway in rancorous laughter. Wrastor’s feathers fluff out in alert surprise, and then, the idea clicked.

Speeding to his own locker, within moments he’s back by Zetterburn’s side. “--Heeeeey fireman flame! Could I perhaps receive the honor of your assistance, for the honor of a mutual friend of ours...?”

The large feline paused mid-conversation with his crew, and looks over to Wrastor with an air of unfiltered surprise. It’s a cattish blink, before he asks, “Uh, sure! What’s up? It won’t take too long, will it? I need to get my head in the game for the big presentation...”

“That’s just it, my fiery-fashionable friend!” Wrastor then tosses up a freshly refilled waterbottle to the large lion-man. Zetterburn catches the waterbottle with a single swipe, the bottle almost engulfed entirely by his paw. He looks at what he had just caught, his mind still trying to piece together the chaos-jive that is Wrastor. The birdman continued, “Orcane asked me to refill his bottle earlier -- he’s feeling a little under-the-weather, see, and we can’t have him raining on his own parade! I can’t find him, and I gotta prep for the test, but could you make reaaaaaal sure he drinks up his ah, medicine?”

“Medicine?” Zetterburn questions, the worry inescapable from his tone, “Shouldn’t he be going home if he’s sick?”

“Not if he drinks! But we don’t want to see what’ll happen if he misses it, right? I can trust you to take care of him, right, big guy? For a friend for-a-friend?” Wrastor asks on, leaaaaning in with a winged hand held up, “You wouldn’t let him suffer, would you...?”

“N-no, of course not..! Health really is important...” Zetterburn looks to the bottle, then to Wrastor, then offers him a firm nod. “I’ll head on right away. Thanks for being so caring, Wrastor!” Beaming a toothy carnivore smile, Zetterburn then takes his own hurried step out to class in search of Orcane.

Wrastor could barely keep it together. Grinning from ear to ear, he takes a detour through the hallways to avoid crossing paths on the duo, but by peering around the corner, he could see the interaction from afar. Zetterburn finds Orcane, and he places a large paw onto the orca’s shoulder. Turning him around, Wrastor needed to cover his mouth from cackling as he watches the lionman shove the water bottle to Orcane. Even from afar, he could see how restless the orca is. Orcane tries to push the bottle back with a polite, and vaguely confused smile, only for the large (and somewhat intimidating, if friendly) lion-man to really, really, really insist he drinks. Seeing no escape, Orcane sighs, and takes the bottle. What harm is a bit more water?

Wrastor near bounces in place as he sees Orcane manage to chug the whole thing in one go. Zetterburn beams, and gives Orcane a good luck slap on his shoulder before he takes his leave. Orcane shook his head, and turned with intent to head back to the bathrooms once again ... Only for the bell to ring.

Class time.

It was a river of students that moved into class. Orcane finds himself swept in, and struggling to get past the mob. Even once the area cleared up, he takes a few steps out...

Only for Wrastor to call out, loudly, “Orcane! You’re not thinking of skiiiiipping out, are you?” Just loud enough for the stern teacher to hear. An old goat of a man, his glare could be felt drilling into the back of Orcane’s head.

The teacher grumbled out, “I’ve heard of you and your ... antics.” Orcane feels the heat burn up at his face. Oh no. The goatman continued, “Perhaps going first will still those restless legs, hmmm...?”

“I, ah, sir ...” Orcane turned, trying his best to stand still, even as he feels the building, alarming and pressing need to piss push at his bladder and crotch. “Can, can I please be excused first, real quick?”

“So that you can fetch your Cheating-Notes? I think not.” The old goat snapped back. With a gesture for the front of the class, he adds, “Come on, then. Show us how it’s done, and present your work. You’ve had over a month to finish it, and I won’t take any absences as an excuse. Go on, then.”

Orcane gave a visible wince. Wrastor looked like he could power the moon with his grin.

Wrastor made sure to take one of the seats by the forefront of the class. Not his usual position, but a change of pace the teacher didn’t seem to mind at all. He got full view of Orcane making his unsteady walk to the front of the class, pausing only briefly at his own desk to collect his notes and papers. Each step seemed to bring him to huff with strained control, and he couldn’t bring himself to bend properly in order to get all of his papers. His actions earned a few odd looks (and an especially sympathetic, worried watch from Zetterburn), but he makes his way to the front of the class.

“S-so, um.” Orcane’s heel bounces where he stood. His legs pressed together tight, and his flipper-hands grip his notes to the point that the papers crinkled. The teacher watched, bored, expecting this to be merely caused by nerves.

“Here’s ... My research on, the history of,” And here Orcane gives a wince, cursing himself on his own topic, “The history of Water Town.” Of course. Of course it had to be a presentation all about water, while he himself felt full to the brim. His bladder felt heavy, aching, and his heel kept bouncing in hopes to ease the pressure or distract him from it by any means.

Wrastor couldn’t help but ask, “I imagine it’s absolutely flooded with information, were you swimming in it this whole time?” He teased. A few tired snickers came from the class over the puns, but a little evil gleam glinted off of Wrastor’s glasses. Orcane stared hard into the bird’s face. Oh he knew. Orcane could feel his face heat up, but he had to stay determined. He had to stay in control..!

“T-the history of Water town, is in fact, splashing with... with facts..!” Orcane returned, a strained smile on his face as he boldly tries to make his stand. The words alone, and the constant thinking of water, near brings his own eyes to water. He had to make it, if just through the presentation. Taking a breath, he goes on his ramble. Stuttering, distracted, fidgeting all the while. At one point, he even presses his own papers down against his own lap in a moment of pretending to shuffle them, but it was in fact to put pressure against his aching bladder and groin. Nearing the end of his presentation, he looked positively out of breath, and his eyes gained a distant look to them. “S-so that’s why, the ... the traders...”

Wrastor, ever-helpful, chimes in with, “Were a fan of trickle-down economics?” Another groan from the back of the class, and a slight eyebrow loft from the teacher. He didn’t expect the birdman to even know that term. (Mostly, Wrastor only knew the words in passing.) He went on, “Would you say that put a lot of pressure on... Water ... town?” Emphasis placed on ‘pressure’ and ‘water’, the avian smiled, palms under his chin.

Orcane looked like he might just rip his notes in half with how much he shook. His breaths fell short, and he manages to answer, “I, I’d say...”

Wrastor adds in, “Do you think the economy would... Burst? Flood the market? It sounds like some of these traders are just pissing their money away--”

The goat-teacher then interrupted with, “Let him do his presentation, Wrastor. Any further words from you, and you’ll be deducted.” Orcane let out a sigh of slight-relief. Grumbling, Wrastor wilted a touch, and leaned back in his chair. While he couldn’t keep prodding and goading Orcane, he still had a first-row view. His smile returns on his beak soon enough while he watches Orcane through his shining shades.

Orcane took a deep breath to steady himself. Maybe if he sped through, he would be let out soon enough. “WatertownisthemerchantcapitalofAetherfoundedin--”

“Orcane, you’re incoherent.” The teacher sighed, eyes rolling, “Try again, and enunciate. Start over from the beginning.”

Orcane could scream. His knees press in tight against each other, his thighs trembling under the tension. The pressure was aching, and he swore he could feel dampness along his cock. He couldn’t tell if it was sweat, or the threat of the first few drops of piss. Taking in a hiss of breath, he tries again, “The... History, of Water Town, is... S-splashing! With f-facts!”

“You’re stuttering. Relax, Orcane. This is the last coaching advice I’m giving you.” The teacher droned over his clipboard. Orcane internally groaned, and briefly considered the possibility of just pissing onto the man’s desk in his own revenge.

Shaking his head, Orcane takes up his notes once more. “--It is the, Merchant town of Aether,” and here he takes on a new tactic; pacing, gesturing, anything to keep moving. He could keep his leg jiggling, or distract from the pressure through stretches, long gestures, and maybe even try to turn his presentation into an interpretive dance. While all the gesturing did catch the attention of some sleepy-eyed students, Wrastor looked like he was trying his hardest to keep from howling with laughter.

“S-so by the third year, they had doubled the boats and improved-d...” Gesturing and pacing was getting harder. His legs felt tighter, and his steps became more like hops. With everyone staring at him, he couldn’t just reach down to grab his aching crotch. All he could do, was to try and turn his own absolute potty-dance into some kind of presentation interpretive dance.

The guise was failing, however. Slowly, the students were catching on, and eyes were on him to see just how he was going to manage. Sweat beads against Orcane’s forehead, and soon he’s forced to stand near still, his legs intertwined as tight as they could go. He’s bouncing in place, panting as he’s holding onto his notes. Each bounce was hell on his bladder, but the drop-down provided just a half-second of anti-gravity relief. Bliss, hell, bliss, hell, his hips rocked back and forth as he clenched his notes to the point that the pages were starting to rip.

“Andsothe-the town, agreed to the contract and, f-finalized the c-current events to--ah--AH!” Orcane let out a sharp gasp as he felt his bladder give away -- just a bit. A small coin-sized burst of pee seeped through his pants, following down his pant-leg. A few gasps escaped some students, and Wrastor found himself leaning in to get a better view. Wrastor pulled the desk in closer against himself -- also to hide his own growing hard-on. He would normally be self-conscious about it, but right now, he was hawk-eyed on Orcane.

Orcane shoves his notes down against his lap, taking a moment to even grab himself in order to regain control. He manages to hold it, and he knew he only had half-a-page left to go. With one hand gripping his own crotch, the other holding tightly onto his notes, he tries to make sense of his own smudged words. His body felt electric with need, aching, and the weight of liquid remained unbearable. He could feel the hot warmth staining into his underwear, slipping down his leg ... But he just had half-a-page. Just half-a-page. “Sssso that’s why Water Town continues its t-trades with the other cities, and in return th-they... they... th--!” And another spurt seeped out of his underwear, through his pants, and spilled visible droplets onto the floor. Orcane let out a sharp gasp, the heat filling his face. He couldn’t be losing it, no!

All pretense of self-control were now tossed out the window. The teacher was too fixated on his clip-board to pay attention, and now most of the class knew of Orcane’s plight. Bouncing from foot to foot, his speaking voice falters with his needy whimper, “They! S-supply ships and trade routes and p-protection and and and ...” Another sharp spurt pisses out of his cock, and a high-pitched whine leaves him. Releasing all of his notes, both of his hands grab down onto his crotch in hopes of regaining self-control. The damp spot was properly visible now, and rivulets were starting to visibly form along his inner legs. His hands felt damp with warm fluid, and while he knew it was too late to hide the fact he was leaking -- he could at least try to prevent from releasing entirely on the floor. “Nghh..!”

With his wet hands grappling his cock through his pants, he rocks his hips back and forth, ankles intertwined in flexibility he didn’t know he had. It was reaching the point that with each bounce, he could hear the slight, damp, squish-down of his feet hitting the soaking soles of his shoes. Puddles and flecks of drips were surrounding him in his constant dance, and with each spurt that slipped into his pants, he swore it did nothing to give him actual release. “Arghh...! Andthatbringsustotoday! Anyquestions! AH!”

Immediately following Orcane’s yelp is the harsh, sudden hissing sound of pee flooding into his own pants, crotch, and even spilling through the cloth into a rapidly growing, singular puddle on the floor. “N-No! No no nonono...!” What notes had fallen to the floor were now equally getting soaked in his piss. Determined to somehow halt the tsunamical flow, he bounces from leg to leg as his own piss rains down in scattered streams, all the while an extended whine left his throat. He felt the rapid fire river of his own piss course through his cock, and the heat of the fluid crawl down his inner thighs, down his legs, over his knees, through his shoes, and drip out through his clothes. A flush of heat and shame soaked his face in reddish hues, and worse still, he found himself groaning involuntary under the release. It felt so good, so good to let go, even as the rest of his mind screamed at him to stop and hold back. The Orca could hold a lot, and that much was evident with the never-ending stream.

His bladder simply gave out, the endless flow rushing against the cloth of his pants, his hands, and his papers and onto the floor below in a noisy hiss and splash. The flood just wouldn’t stop, and he shivers under the dumbfounded stares of the entire class before him. There was a gasp, someone was laughing, hushed whispers of disbelief filled the room. All the while Orcane sunk down from his tight-formed potty-dance, to a more sunken posture of dumbstruck relief. With the initial horror of the situation happening, there was no point in holding back. He just went, spilling himself like a child in front of the entire class. “Uhnn...”

Wrastor grinned. Now that was a look on Orcane that he was burning into his own mind. He took in the sight of the orca’s far-off stare, his slack-jaw of relief, and the massive river-flood that darkened his pants. His eyes traveled down the beast’s body, and he swore he could see the shining outline of Orcane’s own half-mast cock, pressed up against the piss-slick cloth. He felt his own cock press uncomfortably against the underside of his desk. “Orcane, you spilled...” Wrastor quipped, perhaps unhelpfully. And, he adds as his teased question, “Feel better?”

The teacher finally bothered to look up from his clip-board, puzzled by this change of tone, and his eyes widened at the sight. Second-hand embarrassment flushed over his goatly face, and he found himself silent, unsure of how to proceed. “Er...”

Zetterburn was the first to speak up, hoping to jostle the teacher’s mind. “W-Wrastor mentioned Orcane felt a little sick, sir...”

“D... Did he now.” The goatman stated, now mentally reeling. Clearing his throat, he orders, “Wrastor, please escort Orcane ... either to the nurse’s or to the bathroom, if you uh, please. And someone get a mop.”

Wrastor didn’t know whether to curse or to embrace the situation. Sitting at his desk, he felt his own hard-on press against his inner thigh. He got up to his feet, hunched down in order to try and mask his need, and hurried to Orcane’s side. Grabbing the dazed Orca’s arm, he pulls him out the door. “Uh, c-c’mon then, friend-o, that was ... quite the presentation!”

Each step left a damp track behind, and by the time Orcane got out of the classroom, his mind caught up to the moment. He looks down at himself, observing the massive dark patch that covered his entire crotch and spilled down his legs, then looks to Wrastor. His eyes then narrowed on him, “--You somehow did this.”

Wrastor lead on to the bathroom, beaming a smile all the while, “What, me? J’accuse? Why would I ever do such a--”

The moment they crossed the door to the second floor bathroom, Orcane shoves Wrastor up against the wall. The birdman lets out a yelp of surprise, his shades going askew as he stares into Orcane’s stern, remarkably fiery glare. The larger whale-man looms over the lithe avian, and Wrastor gains a nervous swallow. They were alone here. Alone, and no one could stop Orcane from probably-murdering him.

“I don’t know what your problem is,” Orcane hissed, “But I’m getting back at you for this...! You were calling out my name, huh?” It’s then that Orcane pins his still-damp hips up against Wrastor’s own crotch. With one hand gripping Wrastor against the wall, Orcane reaches down to pull down the front of his pants, and expose his own fat, half-mast cock to face Wrastor. Wrastor let out a gasp at the sight, his eyes traveling over the piss-damp shaft, the lighter tone of skin around the wider head hinting at a circumcision scar. Before Wrastor could react, a hot arc of piss leaps out from Orcane’s dick-tip, and spills onto Wrastor’s clothes and face. Wrastor sputters, a winged hand brought up to try and shield from the body-hot urine from covering him, but whatever flow was still left in Orcane, he was letting it all go now on him.

Orcane lets out a deep, groaned sigh, laughing as he watches Wrastor get soaked in turn. “If I’m going to be stained and smelly, you’re getting it too! How do you like that, huh?” Orcane shoves his hips in, pressing Wrastor up against the wall to the point that his clawed feet barely touched the ground. Drips of piss trickled down Wrastor’s legs, streamed lines clinging to his clothes. With their bodies pressed so close, there was no hiding the hard lump of his erection from Orcane’s own shoving cock.

“Ack! O-Orcane! Stop! I’m sorry!” Wrastor struggled against the larger beast, his shifting bringing him to grind against Orcane’s crotch. With hard-on brushing against hard-on, Wrastor can’t help but groan in turn. His struggle became less intentional, his willingness to escape fading the longer he rubs himself up against Orcane. Orcane himself let out a feral-like snarl, and reaches out to shove down Wrastor’s pants, his tapered cock brought out to open air once more. “You’re not sorry, you’re fucking turned on!”

Wrastor could only let out a squawk of surprise and alarm, only for him to get physically hefted up, and shoved up against the sink counter, onto his back. His pants end up ripped off, casted aside by Orcane. The orca loomed over the bird, eyes narrowed with harsh intent. Some twisted part of him found himself ... Enjoying this whole thing. Wrastor at his mercy, covered in piss, all clothing absent from stomach-down. A flipper-hand grabs onto Wrastor’s leg, and the other kept his thighs apart while Orcane angled himself against Wrastor’s ass.

Wrastor’s entire face felt flush with heat. Eyes wide, glasses askew, it dawned on him what was about to happen. One part of him screamed to get away, to stop, but the other ... the other reached down to grab onto his own cock. Wrastor began to pump, panting, staring up at Orcane as the larger figure made him his personal play-thing.

Orcane found himself smirking. His hips press in, and his circumcised cock’s head pressed up against Wrastor’s anus. It’s a nudge, two, and he finds the right give to push himself in. He lets out a groan, his thick hips moving in closer and closer against Wrastor’s thighs while his ass engulfs his cock. “Piss for me, stupid bird.” Orcane panted, “Piss yourself!”

Wrastor let out a stuttered whimper, his back arching as he felt the pain of initial entry. It ached, it hurt, and it hurt so good to be filled. Aroused hard, he grips his own cock and angles it upwards. He struggled with his own bodily capabilities for a moment; peeing while hard is no easy feat. But he forces himself to relax, just as he forces himself to accept Orcane’s hard cock into his ass. Wrastor gasps, as he feels the sudden stream of his own pee speed out the length of his cock, and the arc comes pissing down against them both in broken droplets. “O-Orcane...! I’m, I’m peeing, I’m, ahnn, f-fuck, fuck me, fuck me Orcane, uhn...!” The avian dissolves into semi-incoherence under the rain of his own hot pee. What clothes remained on him, became as soaked as Orcane’s own clothes.

Orcane had never felt harder. Wrastor had fully crumbled into his hands, and all that remained in his mind was the need to fuck. His hips start moving, thrusting in and out against Wrastor’s ass. “L-look at you, you’re a mess...! This, this is wh-what happens, when you try to, hnf, get the, better of me!” His hips soon audibly clap against the bird’s ass, a few stray feathers floating up to the air. The bathroom counter is soon marked with puddles of pee, the public room filled with the sounds of their fucking. The orca hunched over the birdman, hips clapping ass, Wrastor bounces against Orcane’s cock. He felt used, humiliated, and thriving on the rush of being Orcane’s personal fuck-toy. “AH!”

The build to climax filled Wrastor in a rush. His moans felt incoherent as he surrendered into Orcane’s thrusts, his pre-cum dripping and flecking out of his tapered, exposed cock while he bounced against him. Orcane leaned in, wrapping his arms around the avian to the point of nearly hiding him from view as he fucked. Wrastor gasps, the first shot of pre leaping out of his over-sensitive cock, and staining against Orcane’s clothes. “O-Orcane, I’m, I’m coming, I’m, oh--OH! Auhhn..!”

Back arching, Wrastor groans out a deep gasp as he feels his climax breach. His cock flexes into open air, as bursts of white stream out, smearing against both of their clothes and chests. He came in bursts, the cum even more plentiful than when he had been on his own. It felt endless, and his gaze fell far-off in his lust-drugged haze.

Orcane shuddered in turn. He takes a glance at Wrastor’s face, and a glance down on Wrastor’s cumming cock. That did him in; and Orcane feels his own hard climax come rushing in. His drips of pre lost themselves into Wrastor’s core, and his thrusts pounded with feverish need. “So close, so close, so-- Rhhgn...! HNN!” Orcane hissed, his hips clapping twice into Wrastor as if he could sheathe the man completely. His thick cock let out a hard twitch, and he feels the stream of his own cum fill the smaller, lithe avian. It felt as good as his own pissed relief, and Orcane lets out a long, continuous groan that echoed into the public bathroom.

And soon, the two males are left to pant, catching their breath. They laid in the combined mess of piss, cum, sweat, feathers, and strewn-about clothing.

“I think ...” Wrastor began, voice hoarse from effort, “I’m into some fucked up shit.”

Orcane ends up cackling. Wheezing with laughter, he collapses against Wrastor, pinning him to the bathroom counter. Whatever ill-will he bore before, it melted away in the afterglow of their fucking. Wheezing, he tilts his head to see Wrastor’s face.

Wrastor could only offer a sheepish, nervous, flushed smile. Almost questioning in his stare, waiting for Orcane’s answer.

Orcane replies, “Yeah. I ... think I am, too. This has been ... A really, weird day.”

“... Want to do it again sometime?”

“Absolutely. Let me get spare clothes ready, first.” Orcane answered. Wrastor replied with his own chuff of a laugh, and the two take a moment to just get their bearings.

Wrastor ends up asking, “How ... are we going to get out of here like this?”

Orcane swallows, and cast a look around the bathroom. “... Puddles. I can get us out of here, if you don’t mind skipping the rest of the day.”

There’s a beat, and Wrastor asks, “Hey, do you think you can jump through piss-puddles?”

“Shut up and follow me before I regret helping you.” Orcane teases in return. Wrastor responds with a mute grin.

It was going to be an interesting school year, and the games had just begun.

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