Pull the rag out of his mouth

You reach for his face, but hesitate as his ears flatten.

"If I take that out, are you going to scream? Or bite me?" you ask.

He shakes his head, but his ears remain flattened to his head. After a moment, you grab the corner of the rag that hangs out of his mouth and pull, withdrawing most of one of your pa's old socks, shoved halfway down his throat.

The foxboy coughs, spitting out several hunks of lint and hair. "Thanks," he says, his voice raspy and low. You look at the sock, then back at him.

"How come you didn't **** on this?" you ask.

He snorts, coughs again, and spits out a thick flake of orc toenail. "I thought you already know about femboys," he says.

"I know the important stuff," you say. "Like where to put this." You stroke your aching shaft, precum bubbling from the tip.

"Are you sure about that?" he asks, a sly sneer lifting the corner of his mouth. He sits up on the bed and licks his lips. "C'mere." He opens his mouth invitingly.