Temp Work

 Just a Janitor

(c) 2025 Charn 

Garras the black bear decides to see what kind of white collar crime he can get into. However, like always, he's left stained blood red.

The supply closet reeked of ammonia and mildew, a cramped rectangle barely six feet across with metal shelving pressing in from three sides. Garras stood with his broad back against the door, the black bear's bulk making the space feel even smaller. Across from him, Mark shifted his hooves nervously on the concrete floor, the bison's broad chest rising and falling with anticipation beneath a stained work shirt.

"Been wanting to meet you for weeks," Mark said, his voice trembling slightly. The bison's fingers fumbled with his belt buckle, the metal clinking in the confined space. "Your profile pictures don't do you justice."

Garras grunted noncommittally, his single visible eye tracking every movement the bison made. The eyepatch over his left socket gave him a lopsided appearance in the dim fluorescent light filtering under the door. He let Mark talk, let the bison work himself into a frenzy of need.

The belt came free and Mark's pants dropped to his ankles in one swift motion, pooling around work boots that had seen better days. His underwear followed, and the bison's equipment swung free. The scrotum hung low and loose, the skin wrinkled and saggy with age, testicles the size of chicken eggs visible beneath the thin membrane. Above them, Mark's cock extended in a long, thin line, already half hard despite its pencil-like girth.

"Like what you see?" Mark asked, cupping his balls and presenting them forward. The bison's hooves spread wider, bracing against the shelves. "All yours, big guy. ButchR said you were into oral."

"That's right," Garras said, his voice a low rumble. He stepped forward, closing the distance between them. The bison smelled of sweat and industrial soap, with an undertone of nervous musk. "Get it nice and hard for me."

Mark stroked himself eagerly, his thin cock stiffening to full mast in his palm. The shaft couldn't have been thicker than two fingers, but it stretched to a respectable seven inches. The bison's breathing quickened, his other hand still cradling that saggy sack, kneading the loose skin.

Garras dropped to his knees, and for a moment Mark's face lit up with anticipation. The bison leaned back against the shelving, the metal creaking under his weight. "Yeah, that's it. Take your time with them. I've been backed up all week."

The bear's jaws opened wide. Mark probably thought it was preparation for a blowjob, probably expected to feel that tongue wrapping around his shaft. Instead, Garras casually leaned forward, his muzzle swimming up underneath Mark's sack, nudging his dick to the side. His teeth clamped down with crushing force at the root of the scrotum.

Mark's eyes went wide, his mouth opening in stunned shock. His hands flew to Garras's head, trying to push him away, but the bear's jaws had already done their work. With a savage wrench of his neck, Garras tore the entire sack free from Mark's body.

Blood sprayed across the bear's muzzle and the bison's thighs, hot and coppery. Mark's scream finally emerged, a high-pitched shriek of loss and agony that echoed off the close walls. The bison staggered backward, hooves slipping in the spreading pool of crimson, hands clutching at the ragged wound that used to be his masculinity.

Garras chewed methodically, his powerful jaws grinding through the tough, leathery skin, requiring several strong bites to break down. The testicles themselves burst between his molars with wet pops, splattering rubbery, gooey, salty hunks of meat and fluid that mixed with the blood already coating his tongue. The texture was dense and chewy and Garras savored the tender morsels.

Mark's screams had devolved into breathless whimpers. The bison clutched at the shelving behind him for support, his legs trembling, shock setting in as blood continued to pump from the gaping wound. His thin cock hung uselessly above the carnage, never more than half hard and now drooping down into a pointless gummy worm.

Garras swallowed the macerated scrotum and rose to his full height. Mark looked up at him with wild, terrified eyes, his mouth working soundlessly. The bison tried to speak, tried to beg, but only managed a wet whimper.

The bear moved with casual efficiency. One massive paw grabbed Mark's head while the other seized his jaw. With a single, practiced twist, Garras wrenched the bison's skull sharply to the left. The crack of vertebrae echoed louder than the screams had, a wet snap followed by a series of smaller pops as the cervical spine separated. Mark's body twitched, a half-hearted, instinctive twitch of his arm slapping against Garras's belly, before the corpse slumped against the shelving and then slid down to the concrete with a heavy thud. Blood seeped from the ruined groin, pooling beneath the bison's legs. Garras stood over the body for a moment, his chest rising and falling steadily, then reached up to wipe the blood from his muzzle with the back of his paw.

The cleanup was methodical. Garras stripped the janitor uniform from Mark's cooling corpse, unbuttoning the shirt and wrestling the pants off the splayed legs. The fabric was worn and cheap, the shirt too small across the shoulders and the pants too short in the leg, but it would serve its purpose. A plastic name tag was pinned to the breast pocket, the label reading "Carl" in faded print. Carl? Had his hookup ~lied~ to Garras about his real name? Unbelievable.

Garras pulled the shirt on, leaving it unbuttoned over his broad chest. The pants barely fastened around his waist, the zipper straining. He tucked his own clothes behind a shelf of cleaning supplies, then picked up Mark's underwear from where it had fallen. The fabric was still warm, stained with sweat and the bison's musk. Garras used it to wipe the excess blood from his muzzle, making himself as presentable as possible.

The underwear went into his pocket. The body would be found eventually, but not before Garras had accomplished what he came here to do.

He adjusted the name tag, fastening it properly to the shirt, then opened the supply closet door. A janitor's cart stood in the hallway where Mark had left it, a gray plastic contraption on wheels loaded with spray bottles, rags, and a mop bucket. Garras gripped the handle and began to push, the wheels squeaking slightly on the polished linoleum.

The hallway stretched ahead, lined with office doors and humming fluorescent lights. Garras moved with unhurried purpose, his single eye scanning each doorway he passed. The building was quiet in the late evening, most of the workers already gone home, but there would be stragglers. There always were.

Executives working late. Ambitious climbers trying to impress their bosses. Alpha males with expensive suits and bigger egos.

Better prey than a nervous bison in a supply closet.

Garras pushed the cart forward, the wheels squeaking rhythmically as he started hunting.

The executive floor gleamed under recessed lighting, a different world from the utilitarian hallways below. Garras pushed the janitor cart across marble tile that reflected his distorted image, the wheels now silent on the expensive flooring. Mahogany doors lined both sides of the corridor, most of them closed and dark, but one stood open near the corner, light spilling into the hallway along with the sound of a booming voice. The glass door had the name Birch Steelwood emblazoned across it in gold lettering. Birch Steelwood. Jesus Christ. Garras didn't even need to see the guy inside to know that this was his first stop.

Garras slowed his pace as he approached, angling the cart to give him a clear view inside. The office was massive, easily four times the size of the supply closet where Mark's corpse was just beginning to cool. Floor-to-ceiling windows dominated the far wall, offering a view of the city lights below. A desk the size of a small car sat in the center, all dark wood and brass fixtures, and behind it sat Birch Steelwood.

The lion was a specimen of natural predator masculinity. Broad shoulders strained against an expensive suit jacket that hung open, revealing a dress shirt unbuttoned to mid-chest. A thick ruff of tawny fur covered densely muscled pectorals, the kind of bulk that came from genetics, supplements, and standardized gym time. The lion's mane was full and well-groomed, framing a square-jawed face that radiated confidence and entitlement.

But what drew Garras's attention was what hung below the desk.

Birch had his designer slacks unzipped, the belt undone, the fly spread wide, and his entire package spilled out over the edge of his sleek silver zipper. The lion's cock lay flaccid against his left thigh, thick and black and substantial even in its relaxed state. Beneath it, his scrotum hung heavy and low, a massive sack covered in tawny fur that was darker and shaggier than the rest of his coat. The balls within were enormous, easily visible as two distinct shapes straining against the loose skin, each the size... damn. Two fat, furry peaches. Each one hung low enough that it dangled under the chair entirely, the smooth-worn scrotal skin just a lazily taut ribbon of flesh disappearing up into the lion's open pants.

The office was sweltering, heat radiating through the open doorway. The lion had one bare foot propped up on the desk, the other stretched out onto the ground beside him, his free hand gesturing as he spoke into a phone pressed to his ear.

"I'm telling you, Hunter, the wife's got no idea," Birch said, his voice a deep, resonant baritone that carried easily into the hallway. "Last Tuesday was the redhead from accounting. Wednesday I took the blonde from marketing to that hotel you recommended. Thursday..." He paused, chuckling. "Thursday was both of them. At the same time."

Garras pushed the cart closer to the doorway, watching the lion's casual display. Birch's posture was completely relaxed, legs spread wide, one hand occasionally dropping to reach under the chair and scratch at his exposed balls with the unconscious comfort of someone who had never known shame or vulnerability.

"Yeah, I know, I know," Birch continued, "the doctor said I should be releasing 'regularly' for prostate health. But the wife's been on this abstinence kick, some tantric bullshit she read about. Says we should save it for special occasions." He laughed again, the sound rich and mocking. "So I've been backed up all week. Haven't busted a nut since that Thursday. I'm so full my balls ache when I walk."

The lion shifted in his chair, and his hand came up to heft his scrotum, weighing the heavy sack in his palm. The gesture was appreciative, almost prideful. "These boys are working overtime, let me tell you. I can practically feel them squirming in my hand."

Garras stepped into the doorway, the cart wheels making a soft sound on the threshold. Birch's eyes flicked toward him, taking in the ill-fitting janitor uniform and the name tag that read "Carl." The lion's expression shifted to one of mild annoyance.

He covered the phone's mouthpiece with one hand. "The AC's broken again," Birch said, his tone making it clear this was a statement of fact rather than a conversation starter. He pointed to the wall, where an old AC tried to blend in between filing cabinets. "Fix it."

Garras nodded slowly, his single eye fixed on the lion's face. "Yes, sir."

Birch was already back to his phone call, dismissing the janitor's presence entirely. "Sorry about that, Hunter. Just the maintenance guy. Ugh, this place is a fucking sauna." He lifted his hips slightly, slapping his dick to his other thigh, then settling back down as he slouched deeper into his chair. "Anyway, where was I? Right, so Friday I've got dinner with wife, but Saturday... I'm meeting this new girl from the gym. Brunette. Tits like you wouldn't believe."

The bear moved to the far corner of the office where the AC unit hummed uselessly, warm air flowing from its vents. He made a show of examining it, opening the panel and peering inside, but his attention remained fixed on Birch. The lion continued his conversation, oblivious or uncaring about the "janitor" in his space.

"Hunter, these girls can't get enough. They see a real man, someone with actual presence, and they just melt. Not like these weak corporate drones." Birch's hand was back on his balls, idly kneading the heavy sack. "I swear my dick gets hard just thinking about what's gonna happen Saturday. It's been so long since I emptied these tanks, I'm probably gonna flood that dumb bitch."

The lion's cock twitched slightly at his own words, beginning to thicken. Birch noticed and laughed. "See, even talking about it gets me going. Fuck, I need to unload."

Garras closed the AC panel and turned, moving away from the unit and toward the desk. His heavy footfalls were deliberate, each step bringing him closer to where Birch sat with his vulnerable, impressive equipment on full display. The cart remained by the wall, forgotten.

Birch glanced up as the bear approached, a flicker of confusion crossing his features. The phone still pressed to his ear, he watched Garras circle around the side of the massive desk.

"I could help clean out your pipes, sir," Garras said, his voice a low rumble. The bear's gaze dropped pointedly to the lion's exposed groin, then back up to his face.

For a moment, Birch just stared. Then he burst out laughing, the sound loud and derisive. "What, you some kind of queer?" The lion's free hand gestured dismissively at Garras, still chuckling. "Just fix the damn AC, Carl. I don't need some janitor who reeks of bleach and sack sweat trying to blow me."

He returned to his phone call, shaking his head in amusement. "Hunter, you won't believe this. The fucking janitor just offered to suck my dick. These perverts are everywhere." Another laugh. "Nah, he's still here. Probably getting hard in those ugly-ass overalls watching me sit here with my package out."

Birch's eyes traveled over Garras with open contempt. The bear stood motionless beside the desk, close enough now to reach out and touch the lion if he wanted to. Close enough to see the individual hairs on that magnificent scrotum, the way the skin stretched and relaxed with each of Birch's movements. The lion's cock continued to thicken, responding to his own arousal from the conversation, growing heavier against his thigh.

"Just get back to work," Birch said, waving Garras away with his free hand. "And keep your faggot fantasies to yourself."

The lion leaned back in his chair, that enormous sack settling even lower between his spread thighs, and returned his full attention to his conversation. Garras remained where he stood, his single eye fixed on all that exposed, vulnerable masculinity that Birch displayed so carelessly, so arrogantly. And then, he moved closer, his massive paw extending toward the lion's exposed groin. Birch's eyes flicked down to register the movement but he didn't pull away, didn't cover himself. The lion simply watched with a mixture of curiosity and amusement, the phone still pressed to his ear as Hunter's voice buzzed faintly from the speaker.

The bear's paw made contact with that heavy scrotum, thick fingers sliding beneath the warm, fur-covered sack. Birch's eyebrows raised but he still didn't stop the janitor, instead continuing his conversation. "Yeah, Hunter, hold on a second. The help is getting handsy."

Garras cupped the lion's sack in one palm, lifting gently to assess the weight. The scrotum was substantial, the skin soft and pliable but the contents within dense and firm. The testicles shifted in his grip, two massive orbs that were just too big for him to grasp in even his huge bear mitt. They were hot to the touch, radiating warmth through the thin skin, and impossibly heavy. The bear had handled plenty of equipment in his time, but Birch's nuts were genuinely dense, the kind of endowment that spoke to serious testosterone production and natural virility.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Birch asked, though his tone carried more interest than anger. The lion spread his legs wider, allowing better access. Into the phone he said, "The janitor's actually got his paw on my junk right now. This is wild."

The bear's other paw moved to Birch's cock, wrapping around the thick black shaft. Even flaccid, the meat was substantial, girthy enough that Garras's fingers didn't quite meet around the circumference. The lion's cock was silky-smooth, the skin shifting easily over the firm interior as the bear began to stroke.

Birch sucked in a breath, his hips shifting forward instinctively. "Shit," he muttered, then louder into the phone, "No, of course I'm not stopping him, Hunter. You know me. I don't care where it comes from as long as it feels good."

Garras stroked with deliberate, practiced movements, his paw gliding from root to tip in smooth, consistent motions. The paw cupping Birch's balls remained still, simply holding the weight, feeling the heat and density. The testicles were packed tight in their sack, firm and full after a week without release, swollen with backed-up production.

The lion's cock responded quickly, beginning to swell and stiffen in the bear's grip. Blood rushed to the organ, thickening the shaft and lengthening it inch by inch. Birch's breathing deepened, his chest rising and falling more prominently beneath the expensive shirt. The phone remained at his ear but his attention was splitting, his eyes half-closing as pleasure built.

"Yeah, he's good at it," Birch said into the phone, his voice slightly breathless. "Better than the redhead, actually. Knows how to grip it."

Garras continued his steady stroking, watching as the lion's cock grew to its full size. The shaft expanded in his paw, becoming longer and thicker, until it stood at full mast pointing toward the ceiling. The erection was formidable, easily ten inches of solid black meat, thick as a beer can and crowned with a flared head that had darkened to a nice, meaty purple with arousal. Veins stood out along the length, pulsing visibly with each beat of Birch's heart.

The bear's paw looked almost small, wrapped around that massive cock, his fingers straining to keep their grip on the girth. Pre-cum began to bead at the tip, clear fluid pearling from the slit and running down the side of the shaft, providing natural lubrication for the continued stroking.

"Fuck, that's good," Birch groaned. His free hand gripped the arm of his chair, knuckles whitening. Into the phone he said, "Shit, I think I'm gonna bust soon, Hunter. This guy knows what he's doing."

The lion's balls had drawn up slightly in Garras's other paw, tightening as orgasm approached, despite being so incredibly heavy and full. The bear's thumb traced over the taut skin, feeling the firm orbs beneath, appreciating their size and weight one final time before sliding the edge of his claw against the neck of the lion's scrotum, and slowly pulling down, stretching them away from the lion's groin.

Birch's breathing became ragged, his hips beginning to thrust up into the stroking paw. If he noticed the increasing strain on his sack, he didn't mind it. "Almost there," he panted. "Gonna be a big one after a week of nothing."

Garras increased his pace slightly, his strokes becoming faster, firmer. The lion's cock was rock-hard now, straining upward, the head flaring even wider as climax built. Pre-cum flowed steadily, coating the shaft and the bear's paw in slick fluid.

"Fuck, fuck, here it comes," Birch gasped. Then, remembering the janitor beside him, he looked down and growled, "Hey, bitch. Swallow it all. I don't want any on my suit."

Birch put his free hand on the back of the bear's head, and pushed down, and Garras, surprisingly, obliged him. His maw opened, angled down to hide the rows of thick, worn fangs, and then he descended down, engulfing the entire length of that massive cock in one smooth motion. The shaft slid deep over Garras's tongue, the flared head urgent and needy and hard past the bear's tonsils as the big bear took every inch.

"Oh, fuck!" Birch shouted, his body going rigid. The sensation of the hot, wet mouth wrapped around his cock was overwhelming. Garras's now-free paw took the lion's nuts from his other paw, his fingers wrapped around the base where the scrotum connected to Birch's body, and he pulled downward, stretching the skin taut, drawing those massive testicles away from the protection of the lion's groin.

Birch's orgasm hit like a freight train. His cock pulsed and throbbed in Garras's throat, the first rope of cum erupting from the tip with violent force. "Fuck yes!" the lion roared, his hips bucking upward, driving his cock even deeper into the bear's mouth.

That was the moment that Garras decided to 'cut in'. One razor-sharp claw sliced through the stretched scrotum at its root in a calm, deliberate, smooth flick of the bear's fingers. It was almost incidental, but the effect was devastating.

The massive ball sack came free, suddenly heavy and loose in the bear's grip, separated completely from Birch's body. Blood spurted from the ragged wound, hot and arterial, spraying across Garras's paw and onto the plush carpeting beneath the chair.

Birch's second rope of cum fired in a hot gush down Garras's throat, his orgasm continuing even as the mutilation registered. The lion's eyes went wide, his mouth opening in confusion and shock. His gaze dropped down, to where the bear's big head nursed at his groin, and to the side, where Garras held up a grisly, black furred prize. The lion's huge testicles hadn't even finished twitching in their sack, the big round organs settling down as Garras proudly held up the hefty scrotum in the hot, musky air between them.

"What-" Birch started, his voice strangled, but he couldn't come up with more words to follow.

The third pulse of cum erupted from his cock as understanding dawned. The lion's expression transformed from ecstasy to horror, his face contorting as pleasure and agony mixed into something incomprehensible. He sucked inwards, back arching as he felt himself climaxing hard even as he stared at the results of his emasculation.

Garras held the severed balls higher, ensuring Birch could see them clearly, see what had been taken. The lion's eyes locked onto his own castrated testicles, and in that moment of perfect eye contact, the bear's jaws closed.

Teeth sank into the root of Birch's cock, just above where it met his body. Garras bit down firmly, slowly, methodically, his fangs sheering the thick shaft and severing the internal structures. Blood vessels ruptured, flooding the bear's mouth with hot copper. The urethra split, releasing a final spurt of cum mixed with blood.

Birch's scream finally emerged, a raw sound of pure anguish that echoed off the office walls. His body convulsed, caught between the dying spasms of orgasm and the trauma of emasculation. The phone fell from his nerveless fingers, clattering onto the desk.

Garras's jaws continued their work, grinding through the tough tissue until the cock separated completely. The severed organ remained in the bear's mouth, still twitching with the remnants of Birch's climax, as Garras leaned back and let the lion see the empty space where his manhood had been.

Blood poured from the dual wounds, mixing with the cum that had spilled during the castration, creating a pink froth that pooled in the leather chair and dripped onto the expensive carpet below. Garras stood back up, observing his handiwork with professional detachment. Birch's empty groin continued to pulse and spasm, the ragged stumps where his genitals had been attached still producing the final dregs of his interrupted orgasm.

Cum bubbled up from the severed urethra, white fluid mixing with the steady flow of blood to create a pink foam that oozed down what remained of Birch's cock root. The wound where his scrotum had been was wider, more ragged, blood pumping from several torn vessels. The lion's body didn't seem to understand what had happened yet, still caught in the physiological response of climax even as catastrophic trauma set in.

Birch sat frozen in his chair, his body rigid with shock. His mouth hung open in a silent scream, eyes wide and unblinking as they stared at the space between his legs where his manhood had been. His chest heaved with rapid, shallow breaths, the expensive shirt now soaked with sweat. One paw remained locked on the chair's armrest, the other hanging limp at his side.

Garras remembered that the lion's severed cock was still fat and turgid in his maw. The organ was substantial, thick and meaty, still partially rigid from the interrupted ejaculation. The bear's throat worked as he tilted his head back, swallowing the entire length in one smooth motion. The shaft slid down his gullet, the flared head pressing against the inside of his esophagus. It was dense and filling, a solid mass of male meat that settled heavily in his stomach.

The bear's tongue swept across his teeth, collecting the remaining traces of blood and cum. He savored the mixture, the copper and salt combining into a familiar flavor. Then he wiped his lips clean with the twin peaches he had claimed from the leonine stud, using the soft furry scrotum to wipe the blood from his muzzle and paws with methodical strokes.

Birch continued to stare at his ruined groin, his brain struggling to process the reality. Small, choked sounds escaped his throat, not quite words, just animalistic noises of pain and incomprehension.

Garras tossed the soiled scrotum onto the desk with an impressive whump of meat against wood, and reached for the lion's pants. The designer slacks hung open around Birch's thighs, the expensive fabric now spattered with blood and other fluids. The bear gripped the little zipper tag and tugged upward, resealing the lion's slacks over his utterly emptied destroyed groin.

The movement seemed to break through Birch's shock. The lion's eyes focused, his head turning to look at Garras. "Why," he managed to croak, his voice barely recognizable.

Garras ignored the question, finishing working the zipper closed over the flat space where Birch's bulge had been. The blood soaked through the fabric immediately, darkening the crotch of the slacks, but the pants held everything in place. The bear fastened the button, then patted the front of the lion's groin almost affectionately, his paw pressing against the spot that had held such impressive equipment mere minutes ago.

"There," Garras said, his voice calm. "All cleaned up."

The phone lay on the desk where Birch had dropped it, the speaker still active. Garras could hear Hunter's voice calling out, tinny and concerned. "Birch? Birch, what the fuck is happening? Talk to me!"

The bear picked up the phone, bringing it to his muzzle. "Your friend can't talk right now," Garras said into the device, his tone conversational. "He's just lost... an important business contract."

"Who the fuck is this?" Hunter demanded. "What did you do to him?"

Garras reached out and grabbed Birch by his mane, the thick fur providing a solid handhold. The lion's eyes went wide again as the bear yanked him forward, hauling him out of the chair. Birch's legs barely supported his weight, trembling and weak, but Garras forced him upright.

"Look, buddy, I'm about to fuck your friend in the ass now," Garras said into the phone, dragging Birch toward the massive desk. "He's not fighting back. I think he's in shock."

"Jesus Christ," Hunter breathed. "Birch, fight back! Someone call security!"

The bear bent the lion forward over the desk, using the grip on his mane to force Birch's upper body down against the polished wood surface. Papers scattered, a desk lamp toppled and crashed to the floor. Birch's arms splayed out, his paws scrabbling weakly against the desktop, but there was no strength behind the movements.

Garras released the mane long enough to grip the back of Birch's slacks. His claws extended, slicing through the expensive fabric in four long tears. The pants split open, revealing the lion's muscular haunches beneath. The fur there was tawny and thick, covering powerful glutes that spoke to Birch's natural athleticism.

The bear gripped the waistband and tore further, ripping the pants completely open from the belt down to the thighs. Birch's ass was exposed, the tight hole clenched and vulnerable between those substantial cheeks.

"Please," Birch whispered, his voice breaking. "Please don't."

Garras picked the phone back up with one paw, holding it near his muzzle as his other paw moved to the front of his janitor overalls. The buttons holding the flap closed came undone easily, and the bear's cock emerged, already thick and hardening with arousal. The shaft was dark and heavy, already as hard as stone and just as unforgiving.

"Your friend has nice glutes," Garras said into the phone, positioning himself behind Birch. "Very developed. Must work out regularly."

The bear pressed the head of his cock against Birch's entrance. There was no preparation, no lubrication beyond the pre-cum beginning to leak from Garras's tip. The lion's hole was dry and tight, clenched with fear and pain.

Garras pushed forward.

Birch's scream was immediate and raw, his body jerking against the desk as the bear's thick cock forced its way inside. The tissue tore, the ring of muscle splitting under the pressure. Blood welled up around the penetration, providing minimal slickness as Garras continued to push deeper.

"He's very tight," the bear narrated into the phone, his voice steady despite the physical exertion. "I can feel him tearing open."

"You sick fuck!" Hunter shouted, his voice small and useless over the phone. "I'm calling the police!"

The bear's hips pressed flush against Birch's ass, his entire length buried in the lion's torn passage. Birch sobbed against the desk, his paws clenching into fists, his body shaking with pain and shock. The stumps of his severed genitals bled into his ruined pants, adding to his agony.

Garras pulled back slowly, then thrust forward again. The movement was brutal and deliberate, each stroke tearing the lion's insides further. The desk creaked under the force, sliding slightly across the floor with each impact.

"The sounds he's making are very interesting," Garras continued his narration. "I don't think he's enjoying this as much as he enjoyed his phone sex with you earlier."

Birch's expensive suit jacket bunched up around his shoulders, the shirt beneath soaked with sweat and tears. His mane was disheveled, plastered to his face and neck. The proud, arrogant executive who had dismissed the janitor minutes ago was gone, replaced by a broken, violated shell.

The bear's thrusting continued, steady and merciless, each penetration accompanied by Birch's choked sobs and the wet sounds of tearing flesh. He maintained his rhythm, one paw still holding the phone while the other reached for the severed scrotum he'd left on the desk. The sack had cooled slightly since the castration, but it was still warm to the touch, the tawny fur matted with drying blood and bear spit.

The bear lifted the severed package, weighing it in his palm one final time. Even detached from Birch's body, the testicles retained their impressive size and density. They shifted within the sack, two firm orbs that had been producing testosterone and sperm for the lion's entire adult life. The skin was soft, pliable, stretched around its contents.

"Your friend had some impressive equipment," Garras said into the phone, his hips still driving forward into Birch's torn ass. The lion's sobs had quieted to whimpers, his voice nearly gone from screaming. "These balls are the biggest I've seen all week."

Hunter had gone silent on the other end, but Garras could hear his breathing, rapid and horrified. The bear smiled, bringing the phone closer to his muzzle.

"Listen closely," Garras instructed.

He brought the entire scrotum to his mouth, his jaws opening wide. The sack was large enough that it filled the space between his teeth completely. Garras's fangs pressed against the taut skin, dimpling it without breaking through yet.

Then he bit down.

The scrotum ruptured immediately, the skin splitting under the pressure of his jaws. Hot fluid gushed into the bear's mouth as the first testicle burst between his molars, the dense tissue exploding into pulp. The taste was overwhelming, rich and intensely gamey, with an almost metallic undertone from the blood saturating everything. It was organ meat at its most primal, the concentrated essence of Birch's masculinity flooding Garras's senses.

The bear's jaws worked methodically, grinding the ruptured testicle into paste. The texture was unique, firmer than regular muscle tissue but with a grainy quality as the seminiferous tubules broke down. Each chew released more flavor, the taste coating his tongue and the roof of his mouth.

The sounds were amplified for Hunter's benefit. The wet squelching of tissue being pulverized, the creaking of Garras's powerful jaw muscles, the slight groan of satisfaction from the bear. Into the phone, the mastication was obscene and unmistakable.

"Oh God," Hunter whispered, his voice barely audible. "Oh Jesus Christ."

Garras shifted the partially chewed scrotum in his mouth, positioning the second testicle between his back molars. This one was slightly larger than the first, and when his teeth clamped down, the pop was even more pronounced. The testicle burst like an overfilled water balloon, spraying the inside of his mouth with a fresh wave of fluid and tissue.

The bear's thrusting intensified as he chewed, his arousal building with each grinding motion of his jaws. There was something deeply satisfying about the act, the complete consumption and destruction of another male's virility. Birch had been so proud of his equipment, so arrogant about his sexual prowess, and now those magnificent balls were being reduced to paste in a janitor's mouth.

Garras chewed thoroughly, breaking down every bit of tissue until the scrotum was a uniform mash of skin, membrane, and pulverized testicle. The flavor had mellowed slightly with the mixing, becoming less intensely gamey but maintaining its rich, meaty quality. Blood and other fluids had created a thick sauce that coated everything.

The bear swallowed, his throat working to push the substantial mass down into his stomach. The chewed scrotum slid down his gullet in one cohesive bolus, joining the severed cock already digesting below. Garras's stomach felt pleasantly full, weighted with male meat.

"Your friend is making the most interesting noises," Garras said into the phone, his voice slightly thick from the meal he'd just consumed. "I don't think he'll be fucking your wife anymore."

Birch had gone nearly silent, his body limp against the desk except for the involuntary jerks caused by Garras's continued thrusting. The lion's breathing was shallow and rapid, his eyes half-closed, consciousness fading as shock deepened.

The bear's climax approached rapidly. The combination of the assault, the consumption, and the complete domination of the arrogant executive had built his arousal to a peak. His thrusts became harder, faster, driving deep into Birch's destroyed passage with bruising force.

"Almost there," Garras growled into the phone. His free paw gripped Birch's hip, claws digging into the flesh hard enough to draw blood. The lion didn't even flinch.

The orgasm hit with fierce intensity. Garras's cock pulsed and throbbed inside Birch's ass, flooding the torn passage with thick ropes of cum. The bear's body went rigid, his muzzle pulling back in a snarl of satisfaction as he emptied himself into his victim. Each pulse was accompanied by a wave of pleasure that rolled through his entire body.

"There we go," Garras said into the phone, his voice rough with satisfaction. "Your friend's been properly serviced."

Hunter had started crying at some point, soft sobs coming through the speaker. "Why?" he managed to ask. "Why did you do this?"

Garras pulled out of Birch's ass, his softening cock slipping free with a wet sound. Cum and blood leaked from the destroyed hole, running down the lion's thighs to soak into the torn remains of his expensive pants.

"Because he was available," the bear said simply. He set the phone down on the desk, leaving it connected so Hunter could continue to listen.

The cleanup was methodical. Garras used Birch's suit jacket to wipe his cock clean, the expensive fabric absorbing the mixture of blood, cum, and other fluids. The lion remained slumped over the desk, his breathing barely perceptible, his eyes staring at nothing.

The bear tucked himself back into the janitor overalls, buttoning the front flap. He straightened his stolen uniform, adjusted the name tag that read "Carl," and picked up Mark's bloodied underwear from where he'd tossed it earlier. A final wipe of his muzzle removed any remaining evidence.

Garras looked down at Birch's broken body one last time. The lion was still technically alive, though for how long was questionable. The blood loss alone would probably finish him within the hour. If not, the trauma and shock certainly would.

The bear reached out and patted Birch's head almost affectionately, his paw stroking through the disheveled mane. "You were delicious," he said quietly.

Then Garras turned and walked to where he'd left the janitor cart by the wall. The wheels squeaked slightly as he gripped the handle and began to push it toward the door. Behind him, Hunter's voice came from the phone, screaming for someone to call for help, but the bear ignored it.

The hallway outside was still empty, the polished floors gleaming under recessed lighting. Garras pushed the cart out of Birch's office, pulling the door closed behind him. The latch clicked softly, muffling the sounds from within.

The bear moved down the corridor, the cart wheels now silent on the expensive marble. Other offices lined the hallway, most dark and closed, but here and there light spilled from open doorways. Voices drifted out, the sounds of late-night workers still grinding away at their corporate tasks.

Garras's single eye scanned each doorway as he passed, already evaluating, already hunting. The night was young, and there were many floors left to explore.

The janitor cart squeaked softly as he turned the corner toward the elevators, just another maintenance worker doing his rounds, invisible and unremarkable to anyone who might see him.

Behind him, in a sweltering corner office, Birch Steelwood bled out across his mahogany desk, his impressive equipment digesting in the belly of a predator he'd dismissed as beneath his notice.

Garras pressed the button for the elevator and waited, his blood-stained name tag glinting under the lights.

The hunt continued.