One More Minute

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The Bangkok sunrise crept lazily across the blinds, striping the bed in golden slats of heat and light. Outside, the city was already waking—muffled cars on the street, the sharp buzz of a ceiling fan struggling valiantly against the mid 90s humidity.

Inside the bedroom, the air felt heavier. Slower. Sticky in a way that clung you like a second skin. The AC in the bedroom had turned off at 7 AM, as a failsafe to the modern smartphone alarm that had a tendency to only work when it wanted to.

Dean stood at the foot of the bed, pawing awkwardly at the knot of his tie in the mirror. The red silk was crooked, lopsided, and damp in spots from sweat. His shirt was open down the front, half-tucked, and barely hanging onto his shoulders. His pants were zipped but unbuttoned, belt looped but dangling.

He looked like someone who had tried to get dressed and gotten distracted halfway through by... well. Her.

Behind him, spread across the bed in a lazy sprawl, lay Alex.

The tigress looked carved out of morning itself—bathed in gold, striped and sun-drenched, her legs spread with practiced carelessness. One knee cocked up, the other extended. Tail flicking slowly off the edge of the bed like a metronome set to “Christopher Nolan movie buildup” slow.

She didn’t look at him at first.

Dean kept trying to focus.

“Button. Tie. Shoes. Then train. Then work.” he muttered under his breath.

His hand went to his shirt’s collar again.

That’s when he felt it—a tug. Gentle. Almost playful.

Then firmer.

He glanced down.

The tigress’s fingers had curled around the tail of his tie, winding it once around her knuckles. She gave it another tug.

Dean’s breath caught.

“Alex…” he said softly, not quite scolding, not quite begging.

She yawned—long, slow, teeth flashing—and only then turned her head. Green eyes locked onto him, half-lidded and heavy with sleep and something else. Her smile was the kind that didn’t invite trouble so much as pour a drink for it.

“Morning, puppy,” she purred.

“I’m already late.”

“Then what’s another few minutes?” Her voice was syrupy and careless, every word sliding like honey on a hot biscuit.

Dean didn’t respond right away. He couldn’t. His eyes had fallen again between her thighs—on the gleam that shimmered there. Not sweat. Not the sun.

Her.

She was already wet.

And smiling.

And naked.

His cock twitched in his boxers.

Alex saw it. Of course she did.

“You wore red for me,” she said, curling the silk tighter around her paw. “You know it makes you look extra fuckable.”

“I have to get to work, Alex,” he muttered.

“And I want breakfast.”

“You are the breakfast,” he said before he could stop himself.

She grinned. “And here I thought you weren’t a morning person.”

The tie tightened again and Dean looked down at her hand, lowered his guard.

The tigress’s grin turned into a lip bite and she pulled on the border collie’s tie, hard.

“Eeek!” The dog let out a soft yelp as he tripped forward onto the bed. Now he was braced over her—one hand on the bed, one holding the tigress’s striped hip, chest hovering just above hers, muzzle close enough to feel her breath. The position was familiar, intimate. His shirt fell open around her like a curtain. Her eyes flicked down to it, then up again.

“Look at you,” she said softly. “You don’t look very ready for work.”

His cock was hard now—fully. The silk boxers did nothing to hide the flush, the shape, the darkened damp at the tip. She released the tie and let her fingers trail down to his waistband.

“You could still make your train,” she whispered. “If you’re quick.”

She slid her hand inside his boxers.

He gasped.

Then whimpered.

Then stopped trying to leave.

The border collie’s gasp cracked against her shoulder as her hand slipped beneath the waistband of his boxers.

Alex didn’t grip him—yet. Just explored. Her knuckles brushed his shaft, light as a feather, the backs of her fingers gliding along the hot underside. Her claws barely grazed the fur at the base of him, just enough to make his thighs twitch.

“So hard already,” she said, her voice a dark syrup.

Dean’s hips jolted.

Her scent rose around him, thick—salt and sweat, heat and fur, sex and tiger. It clouded the lenses on his glasses, made his mouth go dry. He pressed his forehead to her collarbone and exhaled a trembling moan.

Alex pulled his boxers down to mid-thigh.

Dean’s cock sprang free, in all its glory. The pink skin was loose around the shaft, the foreskin hugging the swollen head—slick with precum that clung in a trembling drop.

Alex gave a low, greedy hum.

“God, I love your cock,” she whispered.

Dean shivered. He was painfully hard now, the skin taut where it should be soft, his tip blushing deep and leaking pre into gravity’s grasp.

The tiger wrapped her fingers around him.

One slow stroke.

Her thumb slipped under the crown, circling once—just enough to smear the wetness of his pre and paint him shiny. His foreskin rolled slightly back as she stroked again, and he gave a full-body twitch.

“You always blush right here,” she murmured, tapping just below the head. “Like it’s nervous.”

“It’s not,” he choked out.

“Then show me.”

Alex leaned back into the pillows, one leg curling around his waist to guide him lower. Her pussy was glistening now—her heat visibly rising off her as her body welcomed him in.

She spread her lips with two fingers. The two sides of her pussy pulled apart with a soft ‘smch’.

The dog boy stared down at her pussy—wet, flushed, the lips soft and yielding. His tip kissed her entrance and the whole world tilted slightly on its axis.

The tigress tugged his tie again, bringing him down.

“Please,” she whispered.

That word again. From her. It stole the last of his resistance. Dean reached behind his neck and shrugged his shirt off completely, letting it fall to the floor with a soft whisper of fabric. The only thing left on him was the tie—still damp, still twisted—still wound in her hand.

Dean aligned himself with the tigress’s pussy. His dick rested against her wet lips, slid back and forth a few times, and he whimpered like a needy little puppy.

He pushed.

Slid in.

Her heat met him with a sigh and a squeeze, tight and yielding, her juice coating him instantly as her folds parted and let him in, inch by inch.

His foreskin peeled back fully as the swollen head pushed past her threshold, and then the rest followed—slow, deliberate, thick with the sound of wetness parting around him like the Red Sea for Moses.

Alex moaned.

Dean groaned.

His hips finally met hers, his shaft buried to the hilt inside her.

And he stayed there—shaking, wide-eyed, completely taken by her body. Her pussy pulsed around him, testing him, squeezing like it was tasting him.

She held him in place with one leg and both hands. One on his ass. One in his tie.

Then she gave him a look that turned his bones to fire.

“Now,” she said, pulling him down to kiss his throat, “fuck me.”

Dean moved.

Slow at first. Because he had to. He didn’t want to be late for work, but he also didn’t want to underperform.

Her pussy clung to him like soft and squishy Velcro—secure, pulsing, and hot enough to make him sweat all over again. Every time he pulled back, the friction dragged along the entire length of him—wet, textured, exquisite—only to be met by another squeeze, another pull; her cunt refused to let him go.

He thrust again.

Deeper.

The sound of it—wet and obscene—filled the room. Dean’s arms trembled with the effort to keep still, to keep from moving faster than he should.

Alex arched her back slightly beneath him and released her leg hook from around him.

“You feel that?” she murmured, she raised her right leg to give Dean more room to thrust.

Dean could barely nod, but he grabbed the tigress’s thigh and used it to aid his balance.

Her pussy fluttered again, and he moaned. His foreskin slid with every stroke—gliding forward, then pulling tight as he bottomed out in her again. The slick stretch of her, the way she wrapped around him perfectly, was enough to make him forget what morning it was.

Monday? Tuesday? Wednesday? Huh?

Alex kept her hand wrapped in his tie. She didn’t yank, not hard—but she tugged just enough.

Just enough to keep him from bolting for the door if he came to his senses mid-fuck.

He didn’t.

The border collie’s body was obedient now, desperate to please her, desperate to please himself. He kept the pace he’d set—slow, deliberate, grinding—gritting his teeth against the ache building in his thighs, in his spine, at the base of his cock.

Alex dragged her claws lightly down his ribs, a teasing rake that made Dean’s hips buck.

He thrust an inch too deep, a smidge too hard, and a little too fast.

The tigress pulled the tie tight.

“Easy,” she whispered. “We’re not in a rush.”

“I—I can’t—” he gasped. “I’m gonna be late.”

“You can,” she corrected him. “Who cares if you’re late.”

Her words poured into his ears like honey-coated threats, pooling heat deep in his gut. He pressed in again—slower this time—and she rewarded him with a soft moan, her walls clenching like a heartbeat around his cock.

“Aaaaah… You’re so good when you listen,” she whispered.

Dean whimpered.

His cock ached now. Every time he moved, her heat coated him—thicker, hotter. His foreskin glided back and forth, hydro-dipping in her wetness and warmth, and each grind brought a fresh sound: wet, sticky, greedy. The air was full of it—their scent, their sweat, the faint creak of the bed and the slap of his balls meeting her ass.

‘Plap, plap, plap, plap.’

He knew if he didn’t pull and get his clothes on now, he was going to be late. And still, he kept going.

He could feel his orgasm building already, curling tight and hot in him. His balls drew up. His thighs trembled. His arms shook.

But Alex wasn’t finished with him yet.

She squeezed around him again, slow and purposeful, and murmured, “You wanna cum?”

Dean’s head snapped up. “Please.”

“You wanna cum in me?”

His voice cracked. “Yes. Yes, Alex. Please. I’m—I can’t hold it.”

She leaned up, lips brushing his ear.

“Do it.”

Dean broke.

He let go. His cock swelled deep inside her, foreskin rolling back tight, and then—he came.

The first pulse hit hard.

Hot, thick, and deep. The rope of seed forced its way into her with a sudden wet surge, slamming against the farthest part of her. Dean cried out, the sound raw and helpless, his body jolting above her like he’d been shocked.

“Hhhyooooohgggaaaaaahhhh…”

Then another.

His cock throbbed again—deeper this time—his entire body trembling as he emptied into her in heavy, molten bursts. His balls clenched tight, his grip on Alex’s thigh gave out, and he collapsed into her neck with a shuddering moan.

“Aaaaaaah! Yes! Let it all out… Good boy…” Alex moaned.

She felt it all—the pressure, the stretch, the searing heat. His cum filled her in full-bodied gushes, too much, too fast. Her body responded on instinct—her pussy clenched down hard, fluttering, pulling at him like she could wring him dry.

And it worked.

He kept cumming.

‘Glrk, glork, sprrrtt, splort.’

His cock jerked again, another burst spilling into her. Then another. Every twitch sent more of him pouring into her depths, pushing against her walls, leaking back around the seal where their bodies met.

And then—

She came.

It tore through her, sudden and fierce. Her thighs locked, her hips arched up into his, and her pussy spasmed around him—tight, pulsing, rhythmic, clutching every inch of his cock. Her voice broke in his ear—one syllable, drawn out, ripped straight from her gut.

The bed creaked beneath them like it was about to bring shame to its ten-year warranty.

Dean was still twitching. His cock still leaked. His breath came in short, ragged gasps against her throat.

And then he stilled, save for his tail that continued to wag behind him.

The silence after was deafening. The heat, blistering.

Alex lay there, panting, full.

Dean trembled above her. After a brief second of calm, his eyes spotted Alex’s phone on the nightstand, the clock read 8:25 AM in the thickest, boldest font known to man.

“Oh fuck—I have to go—”

He lurched upright—jerky, panicked—and that motion was enough.

His cock slid out of her with a long, slow, suctioned schhluck—the kind of parting that made both of them gasp. His foreskin slipped forward again as the flushed head pulled free, dragging some of his cum out with it.

Then came the spill.

Her pussy opened with a twitch—and the cum flooded out.

A thick, white rush, hot and heavy, poured from her in a gush that ran down her folds, over her ass, and onto the bed in lazy, soaking trails. More clung in glossy strings from her lips to his shaft, sagging and snapping with wet sounds as he pulled farther away.

Dean’s eyes dropped to her body—her ruined, twitching, glowing body—and he couldn’t move.

His cock hung soft and wet, slicked in white and sticky sheen.

Alex’s legs had fallen open. Her cunt was puffy, flushed, red at the edges. Another slow drip trailed out of her, smeared down her thigh and into the bedsheets.

Dean stared, breathing hard.

So did she.

Then—just above a whisper:

“You’re SUPER late, sweetie,” she murmured.

He blinked.

God, she always did this. And he always let her.

Dean jolted, eyes wild, tail twitching.

His chest rose and fell in short, frantic bursts. His shirt clung to his back. His tie was a twisted, sweat-soaked mess hanging off one shoulder.

“Oh fuck,” Dean breathed.

He staggered off the bed, legs shaky, foot catching in the twisted blanket. His boxers were still caught around one ankle. His belt flopped uselessly from a pant loop. His cock swung, soft but still glossy, his fur matted with slick and sweat.

Alex stayed where she was, chin propped in one paw, the other sliding slowly along the mess at her thighs. She dipped two fingers just between her lips, scooping what had begun to spill out.

She watched it stretch between her fingertips.

Dean was fingering the buttons on his shirt like a man trying to escape an escape room after ingnoring all the clues.

“FUCK,” he blurted.

Alex laughed softly. “Relax, it’s Monday, traffic sucks on Monday, they’ll understand.”

“I smell like sex. Everyone is going to know I was late because I was fucking.”

“That’s the idea.”

“I have a presentation! I have to speak! In a room. With people!”

She arched an eyebrow. “You think you can talk with all of me still under your foreskin?”

Dean groaned, dragging his pants up over his hips without properly buttoning them. His tail lashed. His ears twitched. His cock—still wet—left a faint, visible smear on his belly fur before disappearing behind fabric.

He grabbed his phone from the nightstand and stormed to the door, disheveled in the way only someone with post-nut clarity could be.

At the doorway, he paused.

Looked back.

Alex was still there—lit by the gold of the window, fur tousled, thighs wet, a single string of cum stretching from her pussy to the sheet.

She smiled at him. Lazy. Possessive.

“Don’t forget your bag,” she called.

He groaned, walked back into the room to grab his backpack from the floor, and then slammed the door.

Alex waited until the silence returned—until the sound of Dean’s flustered exit faded beneath the hum of the city and the slow whirr of the fan overhead.

She reached for her phone.

Opened her calendar.

8:31 AM.

One lazy scroll. One thumb tap.

8:00 AM – Make Dean Late

Repeat weekly

✔️ Complete.

She set the phone down on the ruined sheets beside her and stretched, one leg still bent at the knee.

Her cunt twitched. Another slow trail spilled free.

She smiled.

And let it drip.

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Art by BulochkaFoxy

Dean by DrakoDoge

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