Hazing Ritual

“Holy…”

The two mice stopped at the edge of the clearing, so far unnoticed by the partygoers, and stared up.

“Hey.” Chad punched Brock’s shoulder, still staring up. “You knew there’d be giants here. Whole fucking point, my man.”

“Yeah, but…”

A bonfire about as big as Delta Tau Chi’s whole house raged in the clearing’s center. Around it were maybe three dozen people—talking, drinking, or both, although a few danced to the concert-loud music playing over concert-sized speakers. Not a big crowd, except for the half-dozen who were literally huge: eighty, ninety, a hundred feet tall. Most sat or lay down on their sides, at least, save for a terrifying-looking wolf guy standing at the clearing’s opposite edge, near a huge makeshift structure looming over an outdoor bar. Three Lords, was he the bouncer?

Brock thumbed the bag of pills in his inner jacket pocket. “We’ve only got a dozen pills each. That’s not nearly enough for anyone that big. Dammit, they did this to us on purpose, didn’t they?”

Chad punched Brock again, this time painfully rather than jovially. “We don’t have to make out with chicks that big, idiot.” He pointed across the clearing at an otter girl sitting alone, cross-legged, swaying to the music. Curvy, with green hair that gave off a happy-punk vibe. “She’s big enough to count, and she’s pretty damn sweet.” As if on cue, the otter glanced their way for a moment. Did she nod? Was she looking for a date?

“Yeah, but we need…” Brock trailed off, looking off to their left at a coyote in a conservative school girl’s outfit: grey pleated skirt, white blouse, grey blazer. Damn, she was hot. And she wasn’t that big.

“Whoa.” Chad stared, and broke into a smirk. “Wanna flip for them?”

Brock squinted at his prospective fraternity brother. “Like I have a coin on me.”

“Idiot.” Chad fished in the pockets of his khakis, pulling out a dime. “Heads or tails?”

“Heads.”

Chad flipped the coin. “Tails.”

Brock sighed. “Fine.”

“I take the coyote.” He held out his closed hand for a fist bump. “Good luck.”

Brock bumped fists, took a deep breath, and sauntered toward the otter.

The party didn’t hold a candle, rowdiness-wise, to the two parties he’d been to at Delta. If anything, it was kind of—boring. Sedate. Yeah, right, the giants, but everyone was just talking. Okay, the seven-story mouse girl over there had a cat guy in her hand and she was—uh—licking—

He tore his eyes away. If tried too hard to picture himself in that cat’s place, he’d tent his pants in a few seconds. And a mouse, too. Damn.

But he’d gotten close enough to catch the otter’s gaze now, and…oof. Okay, she might be short compared to the sexy mouse monster, but if she stood up she’d be twenty-four or twenty-five feet tall, he guessed. He’d barely be knee-high to her.

And, yeah, she was sexy, too. He’d think that at any size. Sticking to the mustelid stereotype, there wasn’t much fat on her, yet she still pulled off hips and chest rounded enough to suggest that classic hourglass. Tight ripped black denim shorts barely left anything to the imagination, and the black half-tee left even less, showing outlines of both her nipples and the rings in them. So no bra for this girl, and those half-exposed breasts each significantly outsized his head. Neon green hair fell past her shoulder on her left side, trimmed short on her right.

“Gonna say anything, or just stare up at me drooling?”

Oh, shit. “I’m not—I mean, sorry, uh—” Brock cleared his throat. “Can I start over? Hey. I’m Brock.”

“Where’d you come into town from? Stoneridge?”

He laughed. “Giant, pretty, and perceptive too, huh?”

She shifted position, stretching out long, remarkably sleek legs and leaning on one arm, hand flat to the ground, gazing straight down at the mouse. The pose put him eye-level with her cleavage. Bigger than his head was a severe underestimation, wasn’t it? This was gonna be one hell of a night. “You’ve got a college freshman vibe, but more aspiring frat boy than Mensura weirdo. So I’m guessing State Tech.”

“You’re guessing right. Although, uh, you’re a Mensura student, aren’t you?” He waved around. “We heard this party is a full moon tradition thing here.”

“Huh.”

Brock looked up into her impassive brown eyes and tried not to squirm. The senior frat brothers had said size didn’t matter if the guy took charge of the hookup and held on, but he’d never been great at that in high school without help. And right now, he wasn’t in charge of anything. “So what’s your name?”

She let the question hang in the air unanswered for a couple of seconds. “I’ll tell you if you tell me why you drove three hours to a party held at a college at least half the planet doesn’t believe exists, and the rest thinks is full of wizards, monsters, and mad scientists.”

He tried not to chew nervously on his lip. All right, fortune favors the bold and all that shit. “Because I also heard it’s full of pretty girls.” That was either going to get him a smile or a slap that’d knock him into the next county.

“Did you.” He couldn’t tell if she was smiling, but at least she hadn’t slapped yet. “And is it?”

“Yeah. I admit they’re taller than I’m used to.” He shrugged, flashing a goofy, hopefully winning grin.

That earned him a smirk. “Right.”

He looked toward the bar. “Can I get you a drink, uh…?”

She let a beat pass before answering. “Naomi. It’ll be amusing to watch you try. Get me a rum runner.”

“That’s a lovely name.” He could make that sound sincere because it wasn’t a lie. “You got it. I hope.”

She straightened up, swinging those gorgeous legs over his head to move back into a cross-legged seat again.

As he headed to the bar, he saw the “makeshift structure” surrounding it was another bar on a giant scale—like, the skyscraper-size giant scale. Did they actually have Naomi-sized cups, or was he gonna have to carry, like, a dozen normal ones? Shit, how would the roofies work for that? One pill per cup?

A cute coyote girl worked behind the bar, pulling drafts and tossing around mixed drinks with the flash of a big-city professional. “What can I get you?” she said without looking over, working on what had to be a half-dozen other orders at once.

He scanned the taps quickly. “I’ll have a Corwin dark, and my new friend wants a rum runner. But—” He pointed toward Naomi. “She’s like twenty-odd feet high? Do you have cups in that size?”

She pointed up. “They usually have a few, and they can bring the drink over to her for you.”

“No, I should do it. Uh, I can do it, right?”

She put a hand on her hip, looking him up and down. “I’ll ask.” She grabbed a walkie-talkie behind the counter. “Hey, Ray. Got an order for a quarter-sized rum runner. How many gallons is that?”

Brock’s ears splayed.

“Okay. Yeah, I’ll let you know.” She looked back to Brock. “That’s about six gallons, so call it fifty pounds.”

Woof. “Yeah, uh, I can manage that.” He cleared his throat. “How much is that going to cost me, though?”

“Your beer’s six, her rum runner’s ten.”

“Seriously, only ten?”

“They magically enlarge the alcohol bottles, so you’re not paying for an actual six gallons of booze and juice.” She slid his beer in front of him, and worked on another drink.

“That’s great.” He fished out a twenty from his wallet and set it on the bar. As the coyote took it away, he said, “Can I get two back?”

For a moment, her smile slipped to an are you serious? look, but she slid two dollars across the bar. Oh, c’mon, she couldn’t have expected a twenty-five percent tip. Two bucks, two drinks, right?

It took another minute before he heard a thump, followed by a thump. Brock turned to face a shapely digitigrade canine paw whose toes were as high as his shoulders. Making a soft gack noise, he stepped back to watch another cute coyote woman—one who might be the “little” bartender’s twin sister—crouching down to set a three-foot-high clear plastic bucket on the ground in front of him, full to the rim. “Sure you want to handle this yourself?”

“Uh, yeah. Pretty sure it’s a test before she lets me get in her pants.”

Her brows shot up.

Brock held up his hands. “Sorry if that’s crude.”

“Nah, some giants like letting little guys in their pants. And just think.” She laughed and winked, leaning over him. “If I had a little guy in my pants right now, you’d never know.”

Brock’s muzzle dropped open.

The coyote laughed, straightening up to her full towering height, and padded off.

Cripes. Would she actually—if she did, would the little guy—

Cripes.

“Hey.” Chad walked up, and looked down at the rum runner. “Whoa.”

“Only ten bucks, dude. We need to invite wizards over to Delta when we get in. How’s it going with the coyote?”

“Oh, she is so polite, it’s kinda killing me.” Chad chittered a laugh. “Her name’s Riona, and she really did go to a religious school, nuns and everything. Which is great, ’cause they’re all repressed and seriously let loose when they’re in college. How about the punk otter?”

“Naomi. She’s, uh, she’s tough, but she’s warming up to me. I’d better get back with this, though.”

Chad fist-bumped him and headed to the bar.

Bracing himself, Brock lifted the bucket. Damn, was that heavy. And—shit, he’d need to spike it now, wouldn’t he? Taking a furtive glance from side to side, he reached into his jacket pocket and emptied the packet of pills into the huge plastic tumbler. Okay, safe.

He paused, eyeing his beer cup. Shit.

No. No, he could do this. Grabbing the beer cup in his right hand, the mouse got his arms around the big tumbler again and lifted. “Hrrgh.” He staggered back toward where Naomi sat waiting, trying to ignore glances from amused partygoers. Screw them. They were just jealous.

The return trip took at least three times as long, but when he set the cup down in front of the otter, Brock did his best to look casual about it. “There you go.”

She picked up the cup effortlessly—in her hand, it looked like, well, a normal-sized cup. “So, Brock, what fraternity are you in?”

“Delta Tau Chi. I’m pledging them, so not in yet, but I have my hopes.” He gave her a thumbs up, which she didn’t return.

“We don’t have fraternities or sororities at Mensura.”

Seriously? What kind of lame school didn’t have frats? One full of wizards, monsters, and mad scientists, he guessed. “Huh.”

She shrugged. “Aren’t they mostly for rich kids to spend four years getting shit-faced at while their daddies pull strings to get them into six-figure white-collar internships when they graduate?”

Brock looked up at her slight smirk, trying to figure out the right play. “Damn, I sure hope so,” he replied, keeping a perfectly straight face.

Naomi laughed and sipped the drink. “Still not sold, but maybe we should have secret societies here.”

He nodded, not fully sure of what she meant, and took a swig of beer. She’d have to finish the drink, and get woozy, and, uh…crap. Then what? He didn’t have to do too much to get proof—a few choice photos. So stall while she drugged herself. “So, uh, are you a natural giant?” He gestured toward Ray, the larger of the two bartender coyotes, who stood in front of the bar right now rather than behind it. “I thought they were always, like, that size.” Hm. Was Ray giving him the evil eye?

“Yeah, well. I have normal-sized parents, but I kept growing. Like, at four times normal rate, to four times normal height. Nobody had a good explanation for it back home. Some of the professors have theories, now that I’m here, and by the time I graduate I should be able to change my size either up or down.” She shrugged, taking a sip, but her eyes drifted away from him—and up.

Brock looked up, too. Ray was striding across the party field purposefully, fists at her side, staring down at Naomi.

“Uh, yeah?” Naomi glanced down at Brock, and stood up. Okay, he didn’t quite come to the otter’s knee—and she didn’t quite come to the coyote’s, either.

The coyote crouched, and pointed at the mouse, although she kept her eyes on Naomi. “He roofied your drink.”

“What?” Naomi looked down at Brock, dismayed, sniffing at her drink.

“No, I didn’t!” Brock protested. “What are you—”

“Save it, paw-stain,” Ray snapped. “I watched you looking back and forth to make sure nobody was watching. But you didn’t look up, because you’re a dumbass.”

Naomi bared her teeth, setting the cup down. Oh shit those were big teeth and he did not want to see the coyote chick’s fangs. Brock turned, gearing up for a sprint, and smacked into Ray’s quickly lowered hand. The mouse staggered back, rubbing his nose. “Fuck fuck fuck erk!”

The otter had grabbed him from behind, webbed fingers wrapping all the way around his torso and hauling him into the air like an oversized doll. “You are so lucky we’re in a public place, you little shit.”

“Funny thing about that.” Ray leaned over, locking eyes with Brock. “I was lucky enough to catch this, but you know what? Anything could happen just a few yards into the woods that way,” she pointed off to her right, “and I wouldn’t notice a damn thing.”

“Oh. Yeah. I’m sure nothing bad will happen.” Naomi lifted Brock up and grinned evilly. Big teeth big teeth big teeth. “To me.”

“Please,” Brock stammered. “I wasn’t gonna do, you know…”

Ray snorted. “Not with as little as you put in, you weren’t. But you didn’t know that, did you?” She straightened up. “I gotta get back to the bar.”

“Please don’t let her kill me!” Brock squeaked.

The coyote mimed putting her fingers in her ears, jogging back across the field.

“Look, N-Naomi, I’m sorry—I can make it up—”

“Shut it or I’ll pop your face like a zit.” She clamped her hand over his head—completely over it. “Shit. Your asshole friend.” Abruptly, she tucked him under one arm and broke into a run.

Reflexively, Brock wrapped his arms around Naomi’s forearm as the ground blurred, his body rocked back and forth by her muscles. This was mortifying. Humiliating. Arousing. Goddammit, libido, now was not the time.

“No!” Naomi barked, slowing to a halt. “Don’t drink that!”

Brock squirmed, looking at the world sideways. Ahead of him loomed the giant coyote girl’s blouse; down and off to the side stood a confused Chad.

“Uh, ma’am?” the coyote said, clearly baffled.

The arm surrounding him uncurled, and Brock found himself thrust toward the coyote girl, presented like damning evidence at a trial. “This dipshit tried to put drugs in my drink, and that dipshit,” she pointed her free hand at Chad, “is this dipshit’s friend.” She lowered Brock down almost to the ground, his paws dangling a mere foot off the grass, but kept a grip on his shoulder, thumb circling behind his neck. He sagged limply, feeling like a rag doll, and looked up fearfully at the coyote.

“Chad?” The coyote looked down at the other mouse, shocked. “Is this—”

Chad bolted. He made it twice as far as Brock had. The coyote took two big steps, lifting a broad digitigrade paw to trip him. He tumbled with a pained squeak, then let out a scream as she brought that paw down over his torso.

“Oh, Chad,” the coyote said, sounding disappointed. “And I probably wasn’t going to eat you later.”

Naomi burst out laughing. Chad wailed.

“Eat—she’s k-kidding, right?” Brock got out, pushing at the otter’s hand.

“Obviously,” Naomi said.

The coyote looked at the slightly taller otter. “I’m sure you wouldn’t, ma’am.”

“‘Ma’am?’” Naomi dropped Brock, but quickly pinned him with a heavy paw. He let out a pained whff, staring through the wet grass at the identically trapped Chad. “Please. I’m no ‘ma’am,’ and you don’t know what I can and will do, anyway, kid.”

Brock managed to roll over enough to look up at the two. From this vantage point, they were both enormous. Naomi had crossed her arms; the coyote put her hands on her hips. “‘Kid?’” she echoed. “You’re a sophomore at Mensura, aren’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m a senior.”

“You dress like you’re going to a high school with nuns.”

“She did go to a high school with nuns!” Chad squeaked.

The coyote pressed her paw down hard enough to make him scream again. “Speak only when you’re spoken to, sir.”

Naomi shifted position, which didn’t relieve the pressure on Brock as much as redistribute it equally uncomfortably. “Okay, you’re more of a badass than I’d thought. But…c’mon. Have you ever eaten someone?”

“Just because you haven’t, ma’am—”

“Three Lords, stop! Call me Naomi.” She leaned toward the coyote, making Brock squeak in pain, even though he found himself looking straight up at her cleavage. “And I’ve swallowed people whole.”

“You.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“An otter.”

“Hey, bitch.” She stabbed a finger toward the coyote. “Otters are apex predators. Can you swallow somebody whole?”

“If you want me to call you Naomi, be nice and call me Riona. And, oh yes.” The coyote moved her paw off Chad, only to lean down and grab him the way the otter had been holding Brock, hauling him up to be nose-to-nose with her. “I definitely can.”

“You can’t be fucking serious,” Brock breathed.

All at once, he was back in Naomi’s grip. “Let’s go over there.” She pointed toward the clump of trees Ray had indicated. “You prove it to me, and I’ll prove it to you.”

Riona wagged her tail, strolling in that direction. “And what’ll you give me if I do?”

“A great show? I bet I can make it sexier than you can.”

Riona giggled. “And what’ll you give me if you can’t?”

Chad wailed, starting to kick. “Are you two fucking psychopaths?”

“You’re the genius who tried to drug a giant predator. Well, one of two geniuses.” Riona shook him. “And I didn’t give you permission to speak.”

“Giants don’t eat people!” Brock protested.

“Giants aren’t supposed to eat people,” Naomi corrected. She sat down, putting Brock in her lap and pinning him with one of her fantastic legs. If the situation hadn’t been so dire, he’d be turned on. Uh. More turned on. Goddammit, libido. “And we’ll figure out what I can give you, Goody Girl.”

“Look. Please.” He pushed at her leg. “We’re deeply sorry, it was really fucking stupid. We’re pledging, okay? We were supposed to get photos of us…uh…with hot giant girls.”

“‘With’ is a funny way to say ‘raping.’”

Brock whined.

“Okay, Goody Girl,” the otter said. “Who goes first? Flip a coin?”

“I don’t have a coin.” She sat down, too, putting Brock in her lap and resting both massive hands on his shoulders.

“I don’t, either.” Naomi looked between the mice. “Either of you have a coin?”

Chad spluttered. “You’re asking us to flip a coin to choose which of us gets eaten first?”

“I don’t believe she said ‘ask,’ sir.”

“No! I’m not going to!” He crossed his arms, even though he was trembling violently. “Let us go, and maybe we won’t—”

Riona sighed, grabbing him and holding him upside down by one leg, starting to shake violently. He squealed, arms pinwheeling, as items tumbled out of his pocket. Wallet. Phone. And, yes, a few coins.

“There we are.” She dropped him, and looked at Brock. “Call heads or tails, sir.”

“Uh…”

“Don’t!” Chad said warningly.

Brock looked up at Naomi. The otter flexed her huge web hand over his head. “Like a zit,” she stage-whispered.

“Tails!” he yelled.

“Now, Chad.” Riona smiled brightly, showing all her teeth, and pointed at the coin. “Flip, please.”

The mouse looked between the two giantesses, expression switching between anger and terror. Finally, he swallowed, picking up the coin and flipping it. He looked at it. “Oh, gods,” he breathed. “H…heads.”

Riona looked at Naomi smugly.

“Fine,” the otter sighed, waving a hand. “Do your best.”

“Don’t you even fucking—”

Chad’s bluster ended when Riona picked him up in one hand, lifting him to her muzzle, and gave him a slow, wet lick up his front, from waist to forehead. He squealed, squirming, virtually vibrating.

“Ooh, you like that, don’t you, sir,” she murmured. “I wouldn’t have been able to do that if I was drugged, hmm? Isn’t this better?”

She licked him again, this time starting at his knees, letting her tongue curl between his legs. That earned her a moan, and a deep blush in his ears. “Stop. St-stop,” he wheezed.

“Uh.” Naomi gaped at the coyote, transfixed. Brock tried to take advantage of her distraction to wriggle away, but she wrapped a hand around his head again, holding him in place—and turning him so he had to face the coyote (playing with her food) teasing Chad.

“Oh, dear.” Riona looked over at Naomi. “I’m not turning you on, am I, ma’am? I mean…Naomi?” She winked and opened her muzzle, lowering it over Chad’s head and shoulders, clamping her lips shut around him.

The mouse squeaked and struggled wildly as the coyote slowly dragged her lips back up his body until his head popped free from her muzzle with a wet smack. She kept her eyes locked on Naomi’s.

Chad didn’t scream this time, just staring up at her lips, panting hard.

Naomi moistened her lips, breathing hard. “Maybe a little.” She glanced down. “How about you, Brock?”

“Are you nuts?” He pushed frantically at the otter’s leg again. “I—rrk.”

She slid her hand right between his legs, pressing down. “Quite a boner for someone who isn’t turned on, dipshit. Now let’s find out if Goody Girl can swallow your friend whole.”

“Please,” Chad breathed. “No—I mean—please—”

“I know what you mean, sir,” Riona whispered, parting her jaws widely and running her tongue along her lips, leaving them glistening.

“You—I don’t—”

She dropped her head down, tongue extending to catch his face. With a growl equal parts threatening and lecherous, she shoved him up at the same time she fastened her jaws around his belly. Tilting her head back up, bringing him with her, she swallowed—just enough to pull the mouse’s hips down into her muzzle a foot, to pull his head down into her throat the same amount. Chad yelled, the sound distorted, and kicked wildly.

Riona curled her tongue between his legs.

Despite the muffled quality, Chad’s yelling took on a distinctly different tone. Both Naomi and Brock stared. God, watching his prospective pledge brother half-stuck in a giant predator girl’s mouth should absolutely not be hot, and yet.

“You bitch,” Naomi breathed. “That is so—mmf.” She rolled her hips, brushing her shorts against the top of Brock’s ears.

“Oh don’t do that,” he whined. The otter glanced down at him and (of course) did it again. He pushed at the big otter’s leg futilely one more time, squirming and whining.

Riona swallowed poor-slash-lucky Chad down another foot, but kept licking—and, now that she could seal her lips around his legs, sucking. Her own soft moans grew progressively lewder, and she undid the top buttons on her blouse, revealing a decidedly non-religious-school-approved lace bra.

Chad’s toes curled, and his legs jerked and shook.

“Good boy,” Riona murmured around him, then swallowed hard. The motion drew his legs between her lips all at once, her throat bulging as he passed by.

The coyote put a hand on her now visibly squirming stomach and took in a deep, ragged breath, licking her lips once more. Leaning forward, she fixed Naomi with a smolderingly sultry gaze. “All right, Naomi. Your turn.”

The otter brushed her head back and looked down at Brock, slowly licking her lips. “Think we can beat that, frat boy?”

“It-it’s all right, I got the point, just let—”

“No no.” Naomi wrapped her webbed hand around him again and slid his head right against her crotch, holding it for a moment before slowly dragging his body up along hers, tight to her fur, up toward her chest. “This is about me getting the point, Brock. You’re a game piece.” His nose reached the bottom of her cleavage. “And dinner, of course.”

“I—mmph!”

She pushed his head right between her tits, and kept pushing. Oh god fluffy warm firm musky but nice musky oh god so tight head being squeezed pop head free but chest squeezed so hard can’t gasp—

As she fed him up through her cleavage, her body pinned his arms tightly to his sides, leaving him utterly helpless as his face brushed against her lips. She nuzzled and licked and nibbled, tongue as wide as his body, teeth gently wielded daggers. It was so—so—ngggh. He tried to stay focused on the horror of knowing her mouth would part wide any second, taking his head in.

But it didn’t. She kept sliding him up, adjusting her grip, a hand moving to wrap around his torso right below his shoulders, keeping his arms pinned as the nuzzling licking nibbling drew agonizingly slowly down his neck and chest and belly and—

Ngggh! He tried not to buck his hips against her tongue, but he couldn’t stop.

“You want this as much as I do, don’t you, Brock?” she murmured. Lick.

“No!”

“You never wanted to join that stupid fraternity.” Lick. “You know where you want to go?” Lick. “I do.” Lick.

“St-stop—”

“You want to go right…to…my…hips.” Liiiiick.

(Oh three lords focus on the terror focus on the terror)

Naomi lifted the panting mouse up over her head, stretching out her legs and leaning back. He barely felt his paws slide into her mouth until her jaws closed just below his knees. When the hot, humid wetness locked around him, though, he squeaked, looking around in a panic.

Riona stared straight at him. Or at the otter girl about to swallow him. “Not bad,” she murmured approvingly. Her hands remained on her stomach, feeling her struggling meal.

“It’s very bad!” Brock squealed. “Very bad!”

The coyote lowered her voice huskily, hands moving up to rub at her lace-covered breasts. “I think it’s extremely good.”

Naomi made a purr-growl-chirp noise, took a deep breath that coursed through Brock’s whole body, and swallowed again, pulling his legs down into her throat. It felt like—like what? A hot, moist hose, massaging and tugging and sometimes threateningly squeezing. But that paled compared to the feeling of his hips and crotch ending up in the otter’s mouth, tightly held, tongue pressing softly and firmly against—uh—

“Mmmmm.” Naomi purr-growled again and suckled on him like a piece of candy.

His eyes flew open wide, and he squeaked reflexively. And did it again. And again, starting to pant. Three Lords, she was seriously getting into it, and as desperately as he was telling himself he wasn’t, his body—mmf—

And dammit, the way “Goody Girl” (ha) Riona ogled, so focused, tongue tip peeking out from her muzzle, one hand slipping down between her legs, that was not helping. So not helping.

“I’m—I’m n-not gonna—gonna—”

“Of course you are, sir,” Riona whispered, achingly sincere, commanding. “Give in.”

Naomi moaned, tilting her head back more, breathing faster, swallowing him down even more. He braced his hands against her lower jaws shakily, pushing helplessly as her sharp teeth reached his chest, as her hot, soft, gigantic tongue licked over his face, as—as—

As he shifted his grip, holding on to her teeth and thrusting, thrusting, thrusting—

Riona’s ears stood straight up as she stared, eyes sparkling. Naomi growl-chirped around him, lascivious, victorious.

Brock’s eyelids fluttered, and he squeaked a rising trill as he came hard, and did it again as her throat pulled down, closing around his hips and thighs. He kissed her tongue as he slid down it, unthinkingly, opening his eyes just in time to see the back of her teeth a yard ahead of his face. He tried to get enough breath—her breath—to protest, but another swallow took him into tight, crushing blackness.

A few seconds later, he stopped moving, forced into an awkward, uncomfortable, bent position, the air acrid and—weirdly fruity? Maybe she’d had a rum runner before the one he’d drugged. Dammit, it had worked in high school, and the girl hadn’t said anything later so it must have been fine. If only that damn coyote bartender…

As the sounds of Naomi’s body—her heartbeat, the shift of muscles and flesh, the ominous sloshing-churning—rose around him, they didn’t drown out snippets of conversation from outside.

“—really did it.” Riona, excited.

Naomi’s voice, hoarse, pleading. “—want you, Goody Girl.”

The body around him shifted, tilting, pressing, going horizontal. He squirmed. What was he—what were they—

Oh no, they were starting to make out, weren’t they?

As the oxygen thinned and the otter’s digestive system kicked into high gear, images of Riona and Naomi starting to undress one another lit up his increasingly feverish mind. Brock had believed tonight would be about two frat boys taking advantage of two terrifying hot giantesses. It wasn’t. It was about two terrifying hot giantesses having a meet cute over dinner.

He’d been right about it being a hell of a night, though.