WIP: My Knotty Slut Phase Ch. 5 (Patreon)

Chapter 5: No Names

The glow of my laptop screen washed over the room like ghostlight. I was curled up in bed, hoodie on, undies off, knees pulled to my chest like I needed protecting from… something. Everything. My Howlr inbox was exploding—over fifty new messages since last night—but I wasn’t horny. I wasn’t even curious.

I was haunted.

Shane’s scent was long gone, but his warmth still lingered behind my ribcage like a phantom limb. I kept replaying it all: the way he touched me like I was something precious, the softness in his voice when he whispered into my ear while he rutted my guts. His knot had slid free hours ago, but gods, I still felt full.

And now I was back here. Alone. Surrounded by faceless torsos, lewd come-ons, and usernames like FurryFister99 and Pup4Punishment. I swiped half-heartedly through a few. Too rough. Too bland. Too many unsolicited hole pics.

Then he messaged me. 

WolfInTheWoods

I was so happy to pick up our conversation where we had left off. 

WolfInTheWoods

“You really think art’s supposed to make us uncomfortable?”

I stared at the message, thumb hovering above the screen. My tail flicked against the sheets. WolfInTheWoods had a way of asking questions like he wasn’t just trying to be clever—like he wanted to pull something out of me.

IcyFox

“Not always. But the good stuff? The kind that sticks? It should stir something. Even if that something is disgust.”

He replied almost instantly.

WolfInTheWoods

“So like, Damien Hirst’s ‘The Physical Impossibility of Death’?”

“Or Goya’s black paintings?”

“Or maybe Duchamp’s urinal?”

I snorted.

IcyFox

“Bold of you to bring up urinals with me.”

Three dots. Then:

WolfInTheWoods

“Sorry. Forgot you had that weirdo messaging you yesterday.”

IcyFox

“Nah. Just being funny. Art’s supposed to be about context, right?”

WolfInTheWoods

“You are an art snob.”

IcyFox

“You love it.”

WolfInTheWoods

“I do.”

Fuck.

My heart did a stupid little lurch. I stared at the screen like it had just confessed something too intimate. The way he said that. Like he knew me. Not just the fox with a slutty profile and a polished photo gallery—but me.

I sat up slowly, suddenly restless in the glow of the Howlr app.

Who the fuck was this?

Because… this felt familiar. Too familiar. The tone. The way he paced the conversation. The shit he asked about. I bit my lip and stared at his faceless profile pic again—the cropped upper body, those shredded abs. Could’ve been anyone.

Could’ve been Damien.

I typed, paused, then backspaced.

No. This was dumb. I was being paranoid. But—

IcyFox

“You know we’ve been talking for two days now. Any chance I get to see your face? You’ve seen mine.”

The pause this time was long.

So long I thought maybe he’d ghosted.

Then:

WolfInTheWoods

“I kind of like just chatting. You don’t feel pressure to flirt or send dick pics when no one’s staring at you.”

IcyFox 

“That’s fair. But it’s also a little sus, no?”

WolfInTheWoods

“Maybe. But I really do like talking to you.”

I stared at those words. The earnestness in them.

My stomach twisted.

This was how it started with Damien too. Long conversations. Easy laughs. And eventually, the slow realisation that he was digging hooks in you before you even noticed you were bleeding.

I checked his location. 3km away. Our old flat was about that distance. 

Well, everything in campus is 3km away. 

Am I just being paranoid? Damien is the type to gaslight me just to get under my skin. 

I set my laptop down on the sheets.

I needed a break.

But as I padded off to the loo and splashed water on my face, my mind wouldn’t let it go.

Was I overthinking? Being dramatic?

Or was WolfInTheWoods slowly pulling me in—and I was too lonely to stop it?

I logged back on.

He was still there—WolfInTheWoods. Three dots pulsing like a heartbeat. Like he was about to say something else.

I beat him to it.

IceFox:

“Hey. I should probably get back to… you know. The whole reason I’m on here.”

“But I’ll be around tomorrow, yeah?”

A beat.

Then:

WolfInTheWoods:

“Of course. I’ll look forward to it.”

Short. Simple. Kind. Just like always.

I stared at the screen a little longer than I meant to. My thumb hovered over the profile. I wasn’t ready to delete or block. That wasn’t fair. Not yet. If this wasn’t Damien—and that was a huge if—I didn’t want my own paranoia to fuck up something that actually felt… good.

Real.

So I let it be.

I closed the chat, leaned back, and exhaled. Then tapped the inbox button.

There were still dozens of messages I hadn’t read. Horny jocks. Older daddies. Some twink in bunny ears begging to “lick the knot right off me.” A surprisingly poetic hyena who said he wanted to “write sonnets with his tongue on my inner thighs.”

I kept scrolling.

Until a username stopped me dead.

UrinalPup95.

My stomach flipped.

I tapped into my settings, scrolling through my blocked list with shaky paws.

There he was. UrinalPup94. Blocked. Locked down. Reported. Erased.

And now… this.

He made a new profile.

Just to find me again.

My thumb hovered. My gut screamed don’t, but I opened it anyway.

The message was fresh.

UrinalPup95:

“You can block me, fox. You can run. You can squeal. But I’ll always find you.”

“You’re mine. A filthy, pissing mutt who doesn’t get to say no. You think you’re safe behind a screen? You think you’re clever?”

“I’m going to muzzle that mouth. Bind your paws. Sit your pretty face beneath my bowl and flood your throat till your blood turns yellow.”

“No water. No cum. No breaks. Just piss and obedience. I’ll fill your belly until it sloshes and your eyes roll back.”

“Every time you try to run, you’ll learn what disobedience tastes like.”

“You’re not a boy, Wes. You’re a receptacle. And I’m not done with you.”

I dropped the phone like it had grown fangs.

“Fucking hell—”

I blocked him. Again. Reported. Deleted. Hands trembling.

My skin crawled. My pulse roared in my ears. My tail bristled like I’d been shocked.

He knew my name.

He wasn’t guessing anymore.

This fucker was watching me.

Same phrasing. Same fixation. Same deranged piss-fantasy bullshit. It wasn’t just some horny rando with a piss kink.

I was being cyberstalked.

Actively.

Targeted.

And what the fuck could I even do about it?

I sat there, breathing shallow, scanning the dark corners of my room like he was going to come slithering out of my closet with a leash and a funnel.

Maybe Harry was right. Maybe being out late really was dangerous. Maybe trusting anyone was dangerous.

There are strangers out there.

Predators.

And we’ve all heard the stories.

He seemed so nice…

You never would’ve known.

I shuddered. Rubbed my arms like I could scrape the message off my skin.

Maybe next time I go out, I should carry pepper spray.

Or a fucking flamethrower.

I sat on my bed for a solid minute, phone resting on my thigh, like maybe if I didn’t touch it, it couldn’t hurt me again.

Part of me wanted to curl up, throw on a blanket, and pretend I didn’t just get digitally pissed on.

Maybe I should just stay in tonight. Lock the doors. Watch something wholesome. Bake, even.

But then another part of me—the louder, angrier, sluttier part—sat up and cracked its knuckles.

No. Fuck that.

This was my slut phase. Mine.

I wasn’t going to let some unhinged drain daddy with a piss jug ruin the momentum I’d built. I had lube, charm, and the bruised dignity of someone who just got lovingly tied and bred by a very sweet coyote. And I wasn’t going to waste that sexual energy hiding under a blanket.

I opened Howlr again.

Let the freak flag fly.

⸻

And there he was.

Leo.

Profile pic: laid-back lion, college-age, lounging on a messy dorm bed, shirtless, abs tight, briefs half-visible under loose sweats.

His bio read: “Vers. Chill. Down to explore.”

I wasn’t usually into barbs. Not my default setting. Nothing against felines. I was just more comfortable with knots.l having one myself. But he was cute. Confident. Solid build. And honestly? I needed a palette cleanser. Something new. Something uncomplicated.

And if I was gonna take a spin with a feline, why not make it a lion?

I tapped wave.

Seconds later, the message popped up.

Leo21:

“Yo. You’re sexy as hell, bruv. You free tonight?”

I smiled. For the first time since yellow-boy trauma hour, I actually smiled.

IceFox:

“Depends. You hosting?”

Leo21:

“Yeah. Place isn’t spotless but it’s mine. You down to swap loads?”

Straight to the point. I appreciated that.

IceFox:

“Flip-fuck?”

Leo21:

“Thought you’d never ask. I’ll text the address. Bring that tight tail.”

I grabbed my Slick Paw™, did a quick hole check in the mirror, and threw on some clean pants that wouldn’t survive the night.

This fox had barbs to brave.

Time to get back out there.

As I stepped out into the night, a little thought snagged in the back of my head—

Damien.

And… whatever the fuck UrinalPup was.

Still lurking in my mental tabs like malware I hadn’t figured out how to uninstall yet.

But I shook it off. That wasn’t the vibe tonight. I was back in control. This was about pleasure, not paranoia.

Harry was out—some dinner thing with his wrestling mates, probably blowing someone under the table between rounds of steak.

Still, I shot him a text.

Me:

Heading out for a hookup. Back later. Don’t wait up.

He replied almost instantly.

Harry:

Be safe and have fun. 😈

Gods, even his emoji game was smug.

But it helped. Knowing he knew. That he could see my location if anything went sideways. That someone, somewhere, was keeping a lazy half-eye out for me.

Harry really was a sweet guy.

A wolfwhore, obviously.

But sweet.

Shouldn’t have called him daddy yesterday.

But also—he didn’t complain.

I smiled despite myself and kept walking, paws light on the pavement, cock already stirring with anticipation.

Alright, Leo21. Let’s see if those barbs live up to the marketing.

Leo21’s place was a second-floor unit in one of those off-campus flats that clearly hadn’t seen a mop since before the war. The hallway stank faintly of bong water, microwave popcorn, and someone’s unresolved trauma. A crack ran through the doorframe like it had been kicked one too many times, and the welcome mat just said “Sup.”

Charming.

I knocked twice, then once more for good measure.

A pause.

Then the sound of heavy paws thudding toward the door. It opened just wide enough for one golden eye to peek out.

“IceFox?”

“Depends. You Leo21 or UrinalPup95?”

The door swung open, and there he was—

Big, golden, shirtless, and already half-hard in his trackies.

“Definitely Leo21,” he said, grinning. “And you’re definitely the hot fox from the pics. Come in.”

The flat wasn’t as grim as Trent’s swamp lair, but it wasn’t winning any awards either. Clothes on the floor. Fast food bags on the counter. A lopsided shelf full of empty energy drink cans. And in the middle of it all, a ratty black futon with a suspicious stain I refused to acknowledge.

Still… it wasn’t about the decor.

Leo21 shut the door behind me and stretched—arms over his head, pecs flexing like he was trying to sell them. His eyes dragged down my body like he was trying to calculate my surface area.

“Want a drink?”

“Nah,” I said, slipping off my jacket. “I’m just here to get railed.”

He chuckled, voice deep and warm. “I like a fox who knows what he wants.”

I raised a brow. “Good. Because I expect at least one orgasm and minimal rugburn.”

He stepped closer, paws on my hips, head tilting slightly as he looked me over. “You want to start with me fucking you, or you on top?”

I hesitated for a second, then smirked. “Let’s open with doggy. I don’t really trust whatever’s in your sheets to touch my back fur.”

He laughed again—louder this time—and leaned in to lick up my neck. “Fair enough, IceFox.”

He said it like it tasted good.

I hesitated, then smirked. “Let’s get horizontal.”

Leo21 raised a brow. “Yeah?”

“Sixty-nine,” I said, already tugging my shirt over my head. “Let’s see what that tongue of yours can really do.”

He grinned, baring just a hint of fang. “You’re the boss, bruv.”

We stripped quickly, clothes hitting the floor without ceremony. Leo’21s body was solid—broad chest, thick thighs, and a cock already half-hard and lined with barbs that made my eyes widen just a bit. It wasn’t like anything I’d had before.

We clambered onto the futon, him flopping onto his back and tugging me over him, my arse lined up with his snout, his heavy cock nestled against my cheek.

Then he licked me.

Fuck.

The barbs on his tongue weren’t gentle—they dragged, tugged, flicked over my hole with a texture that shouldn’t have been so good. It was rough, sure. Strange. But gods, it stimulated everything. My back arched as I moaned around his shaft, barbs brushing my tongue now as I suckled the length. They weren’t sharp—just enough resistance to make it feel like he was catching on every nerve ending.

He was a little musky, a little earthy—like sweat and smoke and college boy filth—but the taste made my gut twist in a good way. I took him deeper while he tongued me open, spreading me with firm paws and growling softly like I was his fucking meal.

It wasn’t romantic. Not like Shane.

There was no slow build, no kisses, no whispered nothings in the dark. No one was caressing my muzzle or brushing the hair from my eyes like I was precious.

This was need.

Exploration.

And I was hungry for it.

But even as Leo21 licked and I swallowed, even as my cock throbbed and my tongue chased every drop of pre—

I missed that closeness.

The warmth of arms around me.

The silence after the climax.

The way Shane had held me like I mattered.

I straddled Leo21’s hips, gripping his chest for balance as I hovered over his cock. The barbs looked even more intimidating now, standing out like little hooked ridges on a fat, flushed shaft. I hesitated—just a moment—but then lowered myself down, letting the slicked head press against my rim.

Fuck.

The stretch was one thing. I’d been stretched before. But this?

This was texture.

The barbs scraped gently as I sank down, each one catching in the tight clutch of my ring before sliding deeper. It didn’t hurt—exactly. It was more like my guts were being read, like the lion’s cock was trying to memorise every millimetre of me on the way in. I gasped, my claws digging into his chest fur as I eased lower, lower—until he was seated fully inside me.

My hole throbbed.

My cock twitched, already drooling pre like a leaking faucet.

Gods, that felt—I didn’t even know what. Good? Obscene? Holy fuck?

Every time I lifted my hips, the barbs tugged slightly. Every time I dropped back down, they dragged over my insides like he was trying to skin my fucking soul—and somehow it felt amazing. Each motion grazed my prostate, a thousand tiny frictions lighting up my nerves in ways I didn’t know I could crave.

I tried to move steadily, to ride him with rhythm, but every bounce made my thighs quake. My jaw slackened as I let myself fall into it—into this raw, animal pleasure.

I started slow.

Lowered myself just enough to feel the first barb drag across my rim—then lifted, gasping, and did it again. The next time, I sank a bit deeper. My tail flicked involuntarily, my whole body twitching as the sensation registered not as pain, but as shock. A good kind. Sharp. Intimate. Illegal in some provinces kind.

My paws settled on the lion’s chest again, bracing as I began to bounce.

Up. Down. Up. Down.

Each motion made my thighs burn, but the burn just fed the need. His cock was incredible—unnaturally so (at least for an arctic fox). Every ridge tugged deliciously on my guts. Every thrust of gravity took me deeper into some feral trance where my mind fizzled and my cock throbbed and I stopped caring about anything but that stretch, that drag, that sensation.

I moaned. No way around it.

And not the cute kind of moan. The loud, open-mouthed, “Oh gods, yes!” kind that made Leo chuckle beneath me.

“You like that, IceFox?” he asked, voice smug and strained.

I nodded frantically, too far gone to be witty. “Fuck, yes. Don’t stop.”

I rocked harder, hips snapping, balls slapping against his thighs as I chased something—everything. It wasn’t just sex, it was some kind of unravelling. The pressure built quick, too quick. I could feel my orgasm rising like a geyser, fizzing and bubbling just beneath the surface.

I braced one paw behind me, arching my back, lifting my chest as I slammed down with reckless abandon. Leo21 growled—actually growled—and I felt his claws tighten on my hips.

He was close. Too close.

And I was already spiralling.

Another few bounces and I was gonna fucking cream myself, untouched, just from the pressure of those barbs milking my insides.

But then Leo21’s paws shifted.

Grabbed me.

Pinned me.

He sat up into a squat and held me still on his cock, his muzzle grazing mine. His eyes were dark. His breath hot. “Okay, fox boy,” he growled, nostrils flaring, “My turn.”

He kissed my throat, hard, and then rolled me.

The big lion grinned down at me, fangs gleaming.

“I’m craving knot tonight.”

Leo21 pulled out of me with a slick pop, his barbed cock glistening with my slick and his smug satisfaction. I whimpered at the sudden emptiness, panting, thighs trembling. But before I could process the loss, he flopped onto his back, kicked his legs up, and grabbed his knees—casual as anything.

His pink hole winked at me, nestled in a halo of golden fur.

“Mount me,” he said, tongue flicking over his bottom lip. “Come on, fox boy. Show me what you’ve got.”

My heart stuttered. My cock surged. I stared at that inviting pucker, twitching like it wanted me inside it.

It had been… years.

I called myself vers bottom, mostly because bottom with occasional sass didn’t look as confident on a profile. But truthfully? I hadn’t topped since freshman year. Damien never wanted me to. Said it wasn’t “my strength.” Said he liked my tail up, not my hips forward.

But looking down at Leo21—legs spread, hole flexing, begging to be filled?

Fuck him. Fuck Damien. I was strong enough.

I climbed between his legs, lined up, and pressed the tip of my cock against that twitching puck. Leo groaned, eyes fluttering shut, head tossing back on the pillow.

And then I pushed in.

Gods above.

It was warm, tight, slick—welcoming. My whole body trembled as I sank deeper, centimetre by centimetre, watching his guts stretch to take me. My paws gripped his thighs, claws pricking into the golden fur as I buried myself to the hilt.

“Fuuuuck,” he gasped. “Yeah. Fuck me, Foxy. Fuck that lion hole.”

That was it. The switch flipped.

I started thrusting—slow at first, savouring every drag, every clench around my shaft. My cock pulsed, my knot already forming, aching to be used. I moaned through gritted teeth, overwhelmed with the sensation of being inside someone for the first time in so long.

I wasn’t just fucking. I was taking. Owning. Deserving.

“Fuck,” I panted, hips smacking his arse. “I forgot how good this feels. You feel amazing. Gods—tight little fuckhole…”

His back arched. He moaned like a slut, paw gripping his own cock, stroking himself in time with my rhythm. “Breed me,” he begged. “Come on, IceFox. Knot me. Ruin me.”

My knot throbbed.

He reached down, spreading himself wider, squeezing around me like his hole was pulling my knot in.

“Please,” he gasped. “I need it. I want it. Tie me.”

I growled—a sound I didn’t know I could make—and slammed forward.

The pressure, the resistance, the push—

And then—

Pop.

We were locked.

Leo21 cried out, clutching me, his cock erupting between us, spraying both our bellies with hot ropes of seed. I felt him clench around my knot, milking me for everything I had as my balls tightened and I came—deep, hard, real. I filled him with a full-body shudder, knot pulsing, cock twitching, my cum spilling deep into his lion guts.

I collapsed over him, panting, his legs still draped over my shoulders.

Holy fuck.

We lay there tangled, chests rising and falling like we’d just run a race. My knot still locked tight inside him, pulsing faintly, the last aftershocks of orgasm rolling through both our bodies. Leo21’s legs draped over my shoulders, his tail twitching lazily against the sheets.

The room was quiet except for our breathing—and the slick, squelching sound whenever he clenched around me. Gods, he never stopped clenching. Still so fucking tight.

His cock? Still hard.

Still rock hard.

Even after cumming like he was trying to put out a fire on his chest, the lion’s barbed dick jutted proudly from his hips, drooling pre like it hadn’t just finished round one.

“Fuck,” I murmured, finally letting myself collapse forward onto his chest, careful not to bend us the wrong way. I nuzzled into his golden fur, panting softly. “You’re insatiable.”

He chuckled, voice low and ragged. “Takes one to know one, IceFox.”

I smiled against his shoulder. It was hot. It was. He was gorgeous. Muscular. Confident. Great dick. Very fuckable.

“You know,” I murmured, tracing a finger through the damp fur on his chest, “you don’t have to call me that. My name is—”

He stopped me with a kiss to my forehead, firm and final. “No names, IceFox. Just enjoyment.”

Right. That’s what I wanted. No strings. No names. No messy emotional entanglements.

But still…

He didn’t even know my real name.

And I didn’t know his.

No cuddles. No praise. No soft touches. No whispered nonsense in my ear. Just raw heat and friction and sex.

It was what I signed up for. What I said I wanted.

But the part of me that liked being held, liked hearing good boy whispered against the back of my neck, liked stroking someone’s fur and learning about their favourite band—it missed Shane.

Missed something.

But I didn’t have time to wallow. Not with a lion still hard beneath me, licking his lips and spreading his legs like dessert was about to be served.

Don’t do that, I scolded myself. Don’t compare everyone to him. That’s not fair. Shane was sweet. This is hot. It’s different.

And different was fine.

Right?

I sighed, resting my chin on Leo21’s chest, waiting for the swelling at the base of my cock to fade. He just laid there like a smug bastard, eyes half-lidded, purring faintly, paws behind his head like he hadn’t just been knotted by a fox he met online two hours ago.

My knot softened.

I started to shift.

And then he looked at me with a glint in his eyes.

“So,” he said, voice honey-thick, “how about round two?”

I blinked.

“…Already?”

He grinned. “You’ve got a great dick. And I need to feel that knot again. Come on, Foxy. You up for it?”

I should’ve said no.

I should’ve rolled off and taken my slutty little win.

Instead, I reached for my phone with one paw while my other grabbed his hip.

I opened a text to Harry.

Me: Out late. Great dick. Flip-fucking a lion. Don’t want you worrying about me.

I hit send.

Then I tossed the phone onto the bedside table.

And dove back in—headfirst, hips grinding, knot swelling again as the lion moaned beneath me like he’d never had it so good.

I didn’t see Harry’s response.

Too busy burying myself in someone else.

Too distracted by the heat, the slick, the tight clutch of a body that wanted to be used.

Too far gone to care.