In a twinkling a flash of intense, blinding light washed over him. He had a brief glimpse of the six dragon statues exploding into unrecognizable fragments before he was suddenly whirling, rotating, hurtling through time and space in a dizzying network of color that almost burned out his retinas to look at them. A wrenching sensation—was that of loss?—and then he found himself crouching on hands and knees in a very strange place…twisting, confusing paths that wound and turned at impossible angles, a pastel sky and unusual foliage, all of it lit by a strange, lurid radiance. He was, he saw to his chagrin, still nude, although Serge had thoughtfully sent along his robes, which lay on the ground nearby.
For a long time Lynx remained still, breathing hard and barely able to believe that any of this was happening. His entire world had inverted in an eyeblink, and now he knew he had no choice but to follow the instructions he had been given if he ever intended to escape from this mysterious, mixed-up environment, let alone see his friends again or return to his own body. Yet he knew he would do it, because he believed and trusted Serge, and that he would also seek him out to find all the answers…and see if there could be any furtherance of their destined encounter once they were back in their true forms. He could not resist…that manly feline scent still called to him, binding him with cables of desire.
Except that scent was his now, swirling around him in a renewed mixture of lust incarnate, and as he sat back against the gnarled trunk of a tree and gazed down at the sagittal shaft spearing up along his sweaty torso, Lynx grinned slowly. There was nothing to say that he could not take as much enjoyment from this body as possible while he still had it…and he wanted to, oh how he wanted to. His groin was fairly frantic with need now, and before his astonished eyes his member jerked and spasmed, the glans throbbing and pulsating, sending arcs of long, silvery pre to splash all over his ears, muzzle, and neck without him even touching it.
So touch it he did. For a wondrous half hour he stroked, pumped, and caressed his hardness with one paw and tugged and clenched his balls with the other, gasping and shivering at the savagery of the sensations boiling through every inch of his body. And this time, although he never paused to let himself go flaccid, his cock somehow managed to outlast its previous record, and instead of orgasming right away, the masculine urges only grew more intense and churned all the more erotically inside his belly and thighs.
Soon Lynx’s paw began straying…sliding along over every sharply cut and tightly packed muscle standing out so proudly on his frame. Up along his abdomen he stroked, his claws tracing out each of the six granite swells there…then into the deep, silken cleft between his shelf-like pectorals…then finally to one of his sensitively throbbing nipples.
Yowls and snarls of wild delight greeted the touch of claws upon that twitching nub, and his eyes alternately flew open and squeezed shut with the tidal wave of glorious rapture rising inside of him. Then, in a move of which he never would have thought himself capable, he began fantasizing…imagining his own lean, seventeen-year-old body locked in a vigorous embrace with him yet again. He pictured it in astonishing detail, having known himself so well…he could feel the warmth and supple grace of those young biceps wrapping around him…he could actually sense Serge’s fingers teasing and circling, believed it was they inciting such exquisite ecstasy from his broad, pulsing nipples. He could envision his own mushroom head, covered with layers of pre, driving adamantly into his furry ass, ramming right into his prostate…in time with Lynx’s own thick finger that even now probed his tender anus. And the more he imagined, the hotter and harder he became.
On and on it went, each plateau of sexual tension leading only to another, higher, more beautiful plane, and soon he was gyrating mindlessly, humping up and down like the parts of a well-oiled machine…one created solely for achieving as many fantastic peaks in a row as physically possible. Grunting and mewling in his flagrant need, the demi-human thrust and rocked, the corded bulk of his thighs standing out visibly under his fur, matching perfectly the sinews of his arms and shoulders as he pumped his shaft in an astonishing display of stamina, never ceasing, never even feeling a hint of exhaustion, as if he could go on like this for days.
In the end, he was not even aware of what he did next until after the miracle had occurred. Bending his agile feline spine, he curled into a ball and ducked his head down until with an amorous groan he managed to engulf his spurting glans and several inches of shaft in his questing muzzle. Something seemed to detonate inside him—a Magma Bomb, perhaps, for that certainly seemed to match the temperature of the cum that literally exploded in his maw. He almost choked on the amount, there seemed to be gallons of seed pumping out of those overfilled testicles, so much that it flooded his mouth with every spurt and poured out in miniature waterfalls over his lips and chin. A new geyser would rush out each time he lapped and licked around his head, probed the gaping slit, or especially when he teased his barbs. And it was so creamy, so rich, so exotic and infused with life and texture, that he couldn’t get enough of it. But eventually the sensations became too much, and he threw back his head and roared until the entire Vortex echoed with his triumph.