Zenichi lounged on the sofa, his black pants hugging his thick thighs, red hoodie half-zipped, watching the flicker of the TV. His bunny ears drooped lazily. Then Mikey the turtle shuffled in, all hard shell and slick waddle, his beady eyes on Zenichi’s lap.

Mikey climbed onto the couch, plopping himself square on Zenichi’s black pants. The turtle’s shell didn’t hide the rising tension. "Ah~," Zenichi breathed, his rabbit nose twitching. Mikey started shifting his butt, a slow grind at first, then a rough shake that made the sofa creak. His leathery shell rasped against the denim, but it was the bulge in his crotch—straining against pants—that stole the show.

"Keep it, keep shaking that ass on my pants," Zenichi muttered, sliding a hand down. He didn’t wait for permission. He plunged his palm onto Mikey’s front, feeling the stiff rod under the fabric. Mikey gasped, "Ah~ hmmm yes. That's it."

Zenichi’s fingers traced the outline, squeezing the turtle’s shaft through the cloth. The bulging head poked his palm like a thick mushroom. Mikey ground harder, his shell clattering, his hot breath fogging the air. "Damn, your cock is rockin’, turtle," Zenichi husked.

He unzipped Mikey’s gray pants, letting the turtle’s dick spring free—wet at the tip, glistening. The dark, curved rod spilled pre-cum like honey. Zenichi licked his lips, grasping the base