Lukas slid his paws up beneath himself for leverage as he settled into the stretch, legs coming up over his head, footpaws bracing against the wall behind him, thick rudder-tail planting down along the bed so that he wouldn’t wobble from side to side… and holding there, feeling the extra compression on his chest, his lungs, his abdomen, the otter paused. He swallowed, shifted a bit further, scooted closer to the wall so that he could get that extra leverage, then pushed his footpaws out – forced some of the air out of his chest – and took a moment for the stinging of the tension to simmer away.

At least this time he had made sure to do plenty of stretching beforehand. Sprawled out on the floor with his legs spread, reaching out towards one footpaw and then the other in timed intervals, then leaning all the way forward between his legs… constantly getting distracted by his own nudity, and therefore trying to see if he had done enough of his stretching for his task to become reasonably doable. Even now, the base of his neck hurt from the times he had adopted this same pose while still on the yoga mat out on the bedroom floor, rolling over onto his back, throwing his legs above his head, using his own weight to draw his lower body closer.

No luck yet, though. So the otter had come back over here, let himself unwind for a bit, enjoyed himself a little more intimately, then resumed the stretching – and now he was back again, and this time he had gotten it. A small rumble of appreciation sparked in his chest as he pushed himself closer together, gaze focused right there between his legs spread above his own head: loose balls and soft shaft hung down, jiggling, swinging in the open air, already warm and damp from his captured breath, and so, so close.

Lukas swallowed, the movement somewhat difficult in this scrunched position. He moved both paws up along his back towards the base of his tail, pushed himself closer together – and actually had to close one eye as the loose dangle of the end of his foreskin swung and smacked against the side of his nose. His heart fluttered, his mouth fell open… his nose tingled; the otter took in another breath, swallowed again, and then brought one paw around, leaving the other hitched underneath his hiked rump.

All it ever took was one finger and a thumb. He had to reach awkwardly around his leg in this position, but there was still just something about touching himself like this at this angle: the otter watched, enraptured, delighted, at the way the sleek, overlapping folds of wrinkled skin, already slick along the inside from his previous investigations, smoothly rolled across themselves and tugged back when he moved. It was more of a smooth, steady drag than a pull, the supple skin stretching out, shifting, drawing back across just-as-smooth pink flesh underneath, head glistening with caught moisture, kept damp, soft, silken.

His own scent washed over him, trickling down across his muzzle positioned so perfectly underneath. The otter pursed his lips forward and scrunched his nose towards himself, drawing in a slow, deep inhalation of that scent: high and rich, a little bit heavy, just pungent enough. Today wasn’t quite enough to curl his nose and hit him with that wave of intoxicating, indulgent dizziness, but still he wanted more: mouth falling open, the otter squeezed himself closer and braced his thumb at the base of his shaft, flopping his still mostly-soft length in towards his nose. For a moment the rim of his foreskin rolled forward, halfway across his head; he slid it back again, breathed out, breathed in again.

His musk palpably coated the interior of his nose, filling his lungs with that high, heady aroma, until he could feel the tickle in the back of his throat. Lukas let his eyes flutter shut, rolled himself forward, tugged back, then forward again, still with nothing more than one finger and his thumb. From there he uncurled from himself, releasing the pressure on his neck and letting his back straighten out, and taking the opportunity to get a few lungfuls of cool, clean air.

Still he looked down across himself, chest heaving slowly, length steadily growing in his paw. He had enough extra that each time he rolled forward, he moved, pinched at the rim, and tugged it the rest of the way across his head, until the familiar length of overhang sagged down across itself, sleek wrinkles folding together, bunching up, drawing the oozing pre down in between… and then rolling smoothly out when he slid down again.

Still working at himself, the otter exchanged paws, immediately rubbing that same finger and thumb against his nose. Different secondhand from what it was at the source, though just as enjoyable: he pumped slowly at himself, grinding up into the rhythm, letting the silken movement of the rim dragging back and forth across his head coax him further. He twitched, and throbbed, and felt the tension within the rim there, tugging it slightly back; with just one finger and nothing else Lukas rolled forward again, brushed back down along his shaft, tensed again… and watched in delight as the swelling throb pushed out from inside and rolled the supple skin itself, then again, and again.

Fully hard now, fingers dripping with his scent, he scooted back down to his original position, shifted the pillow beneath his head, and in one great swing tossed his legs into the air again. There was a moment of instability, and then he settled into that same pretzel position as before – and this time was immediately capable of taking in a deep, indulgent breath of himself, the puckered, wrinkled overlap of so many spare folds jiggling from past the end of his cock brushing directly against his nose.

That was what he wanted. Returning his paw to its point of leverage beneath his body, Lukas swung his hard shaft back and forth across his muzzle, pinching the supple skin forward so that it wrinkled across itself first, and then across his nose, his lips, his fur second. Loose and soft, slightly slick, smooth; it wrinkled and curled and folded and dragged back and forth, warm and simmering with a slightly palpable humidity, especially when the inner rim caught, stuck, and tugged, dragging the tip of the overhang partially open.

Like another pair of puckered lips, Lukas mushed his foreskin in against his mouth. He pressed it into place until the head inside rolled partially out, held there, and then pulled free, the slight suction of the space dragging back along him; he swallowed, wet his lips, then squeezed his body even tighter into itself so he could do the same to his nose. Breath shallow in this position, he pinched either side of his overhanging foreskin and tugged it open, the damp, slightly sticky skin sucking in against itself and then parting open with a soft poff.

Just inside the rim, the skin bunched together into small, slick ridges, vaguely present no matter how far he stretched himself. The otter half-closed his eyes and nuzzled in along those lines, sensitive nose following the sleek texture, drawing in his scent straight from the source; again and again he twitched, and throbbed, and shifted in his own half-grip, cock held at an angle in the hammock of stretched skin, the space inside pinching together at each one. That natural, slight slickness, somewhat greasy from his self-indulgence so far, smeared easily across his nose, working the aroma further into place.

One forefinger and thumb slipped free from the folds of succulent skin, letting that side flap back into place nestled around his head. He reached down – or up, rather – and bunched his balls together as well, tugging everything down towards his muzzle; the other paw then went as well, and in one smooth movement from base to tip he slid the spare skin all the way forward, and then even further, so that it yet again hung limp, and-

Limp wasn’t quite the right word. The otter unfolded a little bit, just enough so he could focus on the dense, overlapping wrinkles of musk-slickened skin. The smooth surfaces shimmered with that gathered humidity, smooth, soft, oily… it reminded him somewhat of the nub at the end of a tied-off balloon – and he couldn’t help but smirk to himself in leaning in to brush his lips against it, flopping the folds back and forth, dragging them around his mouth.

Then he slid that skin slowly back, felt the shiver of sweet, delicious pleasure that spiked down through him from the rolling nerves, took in another breath of tinted air… rolled forward, bunched it up against and slightly around his lips, rolled back again. Neck aching just a little bit, he shifted slightly, wet his lips again, and this time held his tongue out, stiff to a point… so that the rolls of skin slid easily around it, gently encasing it against the head of his cock.

Lukas shuddered with that sensation, palpable both along the underside of his tongue as well as in the skin itself as the rim slid up around the extra intrusion. He shifted his other arm out from beneath himself, wobbled in the air for a moment, then yet again pushed his footpaws against the wall behind him, so that he could use both to wrinkle his foreskin as far forward around his tongue as he could. The loose folds flopped forward against his lips, bunched over one another, curled and wrinkled into place – and he swept around to the underside of his shaft, pulling at his frenulum rooting there, almost slipping free, managing to catch it at the last moment. Then back around again, careful not to press too hard or too fast against the natural hypersensitivity nestled inside.

Back and forth, digging past the rim of his head buried within supple skin until the bounds of that skin stretched out around his tongue, then swirling to the side, coming in towards the tip, once again bunching the spare flex forward… the otter swallowed, tasted nothing but himself and his own musk, and stroked himself in rhythm with his licking, drawing his tongue along the sensitive rim where interior folded smoothly into exterior.

Panting now, he pawed himself against his own nose and lips, loving the way the saliva-slickened skin slopped and slapped and smacked into place, how it still smelled of rich, warm musk. Again and again Lukas flicked his tongue out across himself, catching within those folds, curling around, dancing across bared head or the also-sensitive outside; he flicked within the overlapping wrinkles, paused to nibble it between his lips, held it there so he could worm his tongue inside again, and then continued stroking, the extra tension tugging at the edge, slowing his pace, still driving him forward.

His nostrils flared with effort and exhilaration; his heart pounded in his chest; his neck simmered with the growing ache, his back had begun to sting as well, and already he knew that he would be feeling this stretch well into next week, but – right now none of that mattered. His own foreskin clamped gently between his lips, with enough overhang for his tongue to dance and play among the wet folds, Lukas wrenched his eyes shut, swallowed again, stroked faster and harder, then felt the searing pleasure build up from inside; he curled in a little closer, took another breath, slid his other paw back along his rump, and-

-jerked, then jerked again, and again, one of his footpaws thumping against the wall. Intense heat washed over him, spreading like wildfire, and then – the caught pocket of skin ballooned out with an audible squirt blasting into it, held back by his lips pressing around it. Then a second, and a third, and a fourth, and the tension grew as the volume expanded: again like a tied-off balloon, the folds behind where he held himself stretched out around his load, filling up, coating his still buried head in sticky heat. He continued stroking at himself as he came, coaxing out the last dribbles and squirts, feeling the tug as his stretch approached his limit… and then he relaxed his jaw, and let all of that naturally flow out and fill his mouth.

For a few seconds Lukas sucked at himself like a straw, tongue curling gingerly into the slick, slimy interior of his stretched foreskin, dragging out the richness of his load. He swallowed it down, felt the warmth coat his throat, swallowed again, and then finally uncurled from around himself – and groaned with the resulting ache, halfway rolling onto his side.

The comedown is always the worst part, and usually I have to reserve a good hour in advance for stretching and preparation, but… The otter curled his lip up against his nose, took in a breath, smelled and tasted himself again. 

It’s so fucking worth it.