He’s a Fox Ch 118(NSFW)

Chapter 118 Side Story 13(NSFW)

“U-uh… ngh…”

“…”

In the dark, yellow eyes flashed. The sound of skin brushing skin rang out plain as day. Shff, shff. Dry friction gradually took on wetness. Water couldn’t possibly be coming from Kangwoon’s palm; even without looking, the source was obvious. The lewd, sticky sounds wrought by the pre-ejaculate that seeped under stimulation made Hohyun cover his eyes with both hands.

Despite clear evidence of arousal, he couldn’t climax—too tightly strung with tension. His body reacted, trembling, but never released. For Kangwoon, who had intended to use the post-release semen as lubricant, it posed a problem. Clicking his tongue softly, the tiger withdrew his hand and slowly lowered himself.

With both hands covering his eyes, the fox had no idea what he was doing, or what posture he’d taken; he could only pant. Was it over? Feeling a sliver of relief, he slid his hands away—and caught a shocking sight. A great tiger sat on the floor, looking up at him.

Muscles hidden under his shirt flexed, making themselves known. Most of all, those eyes. He stared, heavy and intent, deeper than usual, and as Hohyun found himself mesmerized by those clearly visible even in the dark, Kangwoon seized the moment to ask permission.

“May I… use my mouth?”

“Y-yes… sir?”

Entranced by that face, he nodded reflexively without fully processing the words—and moments later had to swallow a cry. Lowering his head, Kangwoon opened wide and took in the still-stiff length.

“Eek!”

At the hot, slick feel of flesh, Hohyun instinctively tried to edge away. It was as if the tiger had anticipated it; his hands clamped tight on the backs of the fox’s thighs.

Pinned where most of his body’s weight rooted, he couldn’t budge—rigged like an insect fixed for display. Realizing escape was impossible, he tried instead to pry him off.

Thankfully, Kangwoon had only two hands. With only his legs caught, the fox’s hands were free; he braced both palms and pushed at the tiger’s shoulders. Even with all the strength he could muster, it was useless—his muscles had gone pliant under the onslaught of pleasure the moment his shaft was in that mouth.

On any other day, the tiger might have yielded to the push; today he didn’t move an inch. In the end, tears pooled, and the fox gave up on pushing with his hands. Even then, the wet sounds from below continued, so he lifted his feet.

He tried knees and soles—anything that could press—to push at the tiger’s shoulders, but failed again. With two failures, sensation piled up with relentless honesty. He surrendered the idea of forcing an escape and pleaded in a trembling voice.

“B-boss… I-I’m… ngh… going to… please, stop—”

His vision kept wavering. Desperate as he begged, the head between his thighs didn’t budge, the tongue only working more insistently. When that heated tongue rolled against the sensitive spot behind the glans, the fox sucked in a breath and shuddered. At the limit, he reached out and grabbed a handful of the tiger’s hair.

He had no time to consider how rough that was; his grip tightened. Kangwoon’s brow creased, and a pained, low sound slipped out. Feeling it travel through the shaft in his mouth, the fox startled and released at once.

It wasn’t painless—hair yanked raw never was—but that the fox worried for him even now was almost absurd. The cause of it all, the tiger, sighed inwardly at the sight of such gentle sweetness. It made him fret the fox might get swindled one day. Not that he planned to sit by and watch.

Lids clenched tight lifted slowly. Unfocused eyes looked down; their gazes met. At that instant, muscle tightened in his lower belly, and his length twitched. The tiger, mouth still around him, smiled with his eyes.

Good response.

Seizing the lull in resistance, he drew back a fraction. More than half-hidden before, the shaft slid into view. Before the chill could prick at the skin, now drenched with saliva, he left only the most sensitive tip in his mouth and pulled hard with steady suction. Tz-uuup—the sudden move snapped Hohyun’s head back.

His vision didn’t just wash white; lightning seemed to fork through his skull. With no time for restraint, climax slammed into him, and the shaft still held by the tiger throbbed and spilled.

His body acted of its own accord—calves tensed and trembled, his lower back jolting with little kicks.

With each breath, he felt the unfamiliar seep of semen from below. Even after the first wave passed, instead of relaxing, he squirmed to flee; the tiger hadn’t stopped.

As if wringing out every last drop, the firm hand stroked hard, and the fox staggered back. The relentless tiger didn’t hold him in place; he went one further and helped, setting a hand to guide him back. When he lifted his mouth from the shaft, he pushed, and—whump—the fox met the plush of the mattress. Only then did he realize he’d been herded from the doorway to the bed.

As freedom finally returned to limp limbs, the tiger gathered the fluid in his mouth with a slow roll. It wasn’t a pleasant taste—too green—but remembering the fox’s reactions as it was made, it wasn’t bad. He opened his lips; the contents glistened in the dark.

Slick strands slid down into his palm, and the fox bit his lip. Shame struck hard at the sight of the stuff that had wetted not only lips but the inside—and all of it his.

The explicitness tipped into fear. Sniffling, he tried to inch away, but there was no escaping the bed. In the end, he dragged the sheet up and covered his face with a wet snort.

He wanted to crawl into a hole, but no mouse kept a home big enough for someone well over 180 centimeters. The sheet would have to do as a stopgap. A documentary image surfaced—an ostrich burying its head in the sand. He’d once scoffed at how dim that seemed. Now he was copying it outright. But what else could he do? He fussed with the wrinkled cloth, trying to hide as much as possible.

The tiger watched him without blinking. Finger-marks on his thighs, knees flushed redder than usual with arousal, and the shaft, still uncleaned, tangled with release. The obscenity of it parched his throat. Swallowing, he gripped the bed’s edge and hauled himself up.

His gaze, now above, landed on the laxly dropped ankle. Like other parts of him, the pale skin bore two small moles, set like a pair of dots. Drawn to them, he reached with a clean hand and covered them lightly.

At the sudden touch circling his ankle, the fox flinched. The wet of that hand made him flash on what had just happened. While he floundered, the tiger looming above asked in a roughened voice: