The door closed, shutting out the noise of the world. The bolt turned under the marten’s fingers, and he sank back against it with a sigh.

If he were a little more vain, he might think people were going out of their way to cockblock him. But Adam Stone wasn’t that vain. He showed himself off to advantage, and that was normally enough; not so much lately, though. The few girls who’d made eyes at him tonight really weren’t his type, even if his arrangement with Sam had allowed other girls; and the guys, while fair game for him, had apparently all been either committed themselves or after something else. He’d thought he was close – three times, at that; a nice wild turn on the dance floor, happening to rub hip to hip, eyes meeting, a bit of a spark greeting his gaze… and then, suddenly, nothing. Three times.

He’d never been so close to that much cock without getting at least some action out of it. And it had left him acutely aware of a deep-seated need to get stuffed.

Oh, well. He was a big boy now; he could take care of things on his own.

His roommate was gone, spending the weekend at his family’s place. It was Saturday night, and a heavy bass beat was sounding through the walls in total defiance of the very notion of “curfew”. He’d hardly be the only person getting off tonight.

The marten peeled out of his tanktop, wadded it up, and lobbed it into the hamper. He fished his keys and wallet out of his shorts, stowed them away, and then gave the shorts the same treatment. His boxers were already tenting a little in anticipation before he stripped them off, too, sprawling face-up across the bed and caressing his hardening flesh with a groan.

It didn’t take long to coax his member to full mast, and at that point he flipped over, hissing softly as his sensitive skin slid against the coarse sheets, but enduring, reaching between the bed and the wall for the bag he stashed there. The toy he fished out wasn’t particularly ambitious, but at six and a half inches of thick shaft, it was enough – and it reminded him of an especially vigorous otter who’d borne a piece much like it.

He could’ve probably got off just revisiting those memories and squirming against the sheets, but where would the fun be in that?

With a bottle of lube in his other hand, he flipped back over. He closed his eyes, putting a slippery coat on the toy by feel, the hand that held it shifting, ears flicking, straining to catch the groans that would go with the motion he imitated.

Not tonight, though. Maybe soon.

He didn’t slip it in right away, though; he just gripped the base of it, wiggled back a little to let his toes find purchase on the edge of the bed, and pushed himself up with his free hand; up, and over.

He got more out of being a marten than just the eye-catching gold, black, and white fur, after all, and he kept himself in shape to use it. The touch of his own tongue over his glans was hardly a mystery to him; and if it wasn’t quite as intense as someone else’s tongue would be, he still liked the taste and feel of cock, even if it was his own.

Just as he liked the feel of cock elsewhere, even if it was silicone around a harder plastic core, not skin over engorged flesh, that nudged under his balls; even if it was the effort of his own arm that pulled the fake cock into him, not the weight of a real guy’s body. With his eyes still shut and memories dancing through his head, it’d do for now as a substitute.

He couldn’t get a good rhythm of thrusts going on, but being a good match for an old friend-with-benefits wasn’t the only thing this particular toy had going for it. Once it was lodged in deep, he lifted his head, lips sliding back up along his shaft, letting his glans free with a soft, breathy gasp; then he reached out a little farther and spun the dial on the base of the toy. It shuddered to life inside him, carrying a heavy buzz deep in; he shivered in turn, swallowing a whimper.

No, it wouldn’t do to make too much of a racket – he ought to be polite, he thought, and almost chuckled aloud at the notion. Yes, best to keep his mouth too full for such outbursts.

It didn’t take long. No, with the vibe buzzing against his prostate and his lips and tongue sliding along his cock, it didn’t take long at all before the pent-up load of spunk that had been straining to get out of him all night cascaded over his tongue, and he guzzled it right down, swallowing every drop and yearning for more.

Practical concerns kept him from staying curled up, from enjoying the feel of his cock going soft in his mouth. He shut the vibe off and slowly, carefully uncurled, now permitting himself a deep groan of satisfaction. He worked the toy out of him and went through a few careful stretches, letting his back settle into place properly before it set in a slouch or something. Once that was done, though, he lazed, half-dozing – partly savouring his afterglow, partly sifting through a few choice memories.

Yeah, he wasn’t ready to give up cock anytime soon. Not the fake kind, and certainly not the real ones – his or someone else’s.

He rolled out of bed, reaching for a bathrobe. Time to clean up – but at least the foul mood from earlier was gone, and he could smile while he was doing it.