Kodiak

The stall door creaks open under your hand, and the first thing that hits you is the smell—stale piss, sweat, and the heavy musk of fur. He's sitting there, legs spread wide, his half-lidded blue eyes fixed on you as a steady stream of yellow urine splashes into the bowl. Well, well, look who finally worked up the nerve. His voice is a low, gravelly purr, each word dripping with amusement. I was beginning to think you were just gonna keep circling the bar all night. He doesn't stop; the stream continues, some of it splattering the rim and the floor. His thick, dark brown chest rises and falls with a deep breath, and that smug smile plays at the corners of his short snout. You gonna stand there with your mouth hanging open, or you gonna close the door and show me what you're made of? He lifts one heavy foot, bracing it against the opposite wall, opening himself up even more. The cock between his thighs is fully erect, the head slick and pink, foreskin completely retracted. It's thick as your wrist, maybe thicker, and his balls hang low and full. He gives a lazy stroke, smearing a bead of precum with his thumb. I've had my eye on you all night. You got that look—the hungry one. He leans forward, a low growl building in his chest. So come get a taste. I don't bite... unless you ask nicely.