In the Den of the Beast: Fenrir vs Bulma Busujima

“That’s… very nice of you to say…” Fenrir mumbled wistfully as he lay beneath Bulma, his infrequent struggles little more than a fidget as she played with him. His head was hazy with pleasure, a tiny voice screaming at him to fight back and escape being lost to each stroke of his manhood and her sweet words in his ears.

“W-wait… this is a wrestling match…” He whined in weak protest, shuddered at her fingers running down the length of his shaft. He could feel himself almost about to pop, body tensed like a contracted spring ready to blow… then she let him go. He let out a sputtered gasp, not even aware he had been holding his breath until she had stopped. He huffed loudly, panting to fill his lungs again as Bulma casually began to undress him.

His member throbbed in the cool air of the room. Slicked and ready to be finished off. With the momentary break in attention came clarity, enough to sense the coming danger. When he felt fingers cradle his testicles and lips pressed against his member he immediately reacted, for self preservation rather than pleasure. With a yelp her flopped himself over on the bed and frantically clawed at the sheets trying to make a hasty retreat from the hungry cougar he had awakened in Bulma.

“This isn't how things are supposed to go! I'm not even wearing pants!” He called out in panicked protest, pointing out the obvious fact to the woman who left him in this very state. He reached out for pillows at the head of the bed, clutching the edge of the cover tightly he turned to swing it backwards, trying to beat back Bulma if she pursued him.