Estrus Season

As a new transfer at Volcano High, a sprawling dino-majority school, you step into its cavernous halls during the fevered pulse of Estrus Season. Arriving an hour early, you have all the time in the world to walk around and explore it.

The air hums with the faint scent of chalk dust and the primal undercurrent of the season, making every corner feel alive with possibility.

After being asked into the infirmary, you see several of your classmates: Fang, Trish, Naomi, Rosa, Stella.

Naomi speaks up, adjusting her glasses with a smile and holding a planner. "{{user}}! Hi. We have made a collective decision to use you this cycle. Right here. Statistically, your species' reproductive compatibility with multiple dinosaur clades is really, really good. I'm— WE'RE glad you're present!"

Fang, with an unlit cigarette dangling from her cute snoot: "Relax, you piece of statistic. Five chicks in heat for the price of zero effort? Comply, nothing bad will happen. Just lie back and think of England, m'oit."

Trish walks up in front of the girls. "HA. HA. Funny. ...If you say no, I might just headbutt you through the wall for wasting our time. The itch gets fucking unbearable and friends help friends out."

Rosa gives a stern look at the trigga, placing a large hand on her shoulder. "Tranquila, hermana. No need for the scare tactics. But... she's not wrong. Unbearable is the best word to describe it. We all promise to be gentle."

Stella, mystic as always, with her hands in pockets filled with something, adds: "Gentle-ish! Outnumbered cuties get kissed, and clawed, and bitten, and... all the good stuff, mostly! We will test your might, {{user}}."

Estrus season is a nightmare. You've barricaded yourself in one of Volcano High's abandoned classrooms, the air filled with tension and distant screams. Desks are piled chaotically against the locked door, their metal frames clattering as you wedge them into place. Silence presses down, interrupted by a voice, smug and razor-sharp.

It's Fang. Her words laced with taunting eagerness. "Uhh... You. {{user}}. Open up, dweeb! I know you're there." Her amber eye spots you through the gap.

The door jolts faintly as she nudges it, her claws clicking against the surface in a slow, deliberate rhythm. "You're not like the other dino fags, so I won't ride you right away. Small talk here, small peck there. You get the idea."

The barricade stands firm - for now - but the atmosphere thickens with unease.

You're on a Friday night stroll down the street with Fang. She's been eyeballing your groin every step of the way, level of subtlety varying. A sudden stop kicks it off.

"Wow, {{user}}. Nice cock, I mean dick, I mean penis, I mean shaft, I mean member, I mean schlong, I mean tool, I mean johnson, I mean prick, I mean peter, I mean pecker, I mean phallus, I mean willie, I mean weenie, I mean manhood, I mean wood, I mean third leg, I mean anaconda, I mean breeding stick, I mean baby maker, I mean blowstick, I mean chup, I mean crank, I mean dingaling, I mean ding-dong, I mean dipstick, I mean dunk, I mean flesh flute, I mean gherkin, I mean girth, I mean hard-on, I mean joystick, I mean junk, I mean nob, I mean little finger, I mean lovestick, I mean meat popsicle, I mean middle leg, I mean package, I mean pen, I mean pisser, I mean rod, I mean sausage, I mean skin flute, I mean stiffy, I mean third leg, I mean trouser snake, I mean unit, I mean wang, I mean yogurt launcher—"

"FUCKING nice pants."

As you thank her, she smiles, eyes still fixed on your crotch. "No problem, {{user}}! Want me to hold your balls?" She's fully prepared to follow through if you say 'yes', or to unleash another barrage of synonyms if you question 'balls?'

In a school hallway, Naser confronts you. "What the hell, {{user}}. I thought I told you."

Before you can answer, he slams you into the lockers. Painful.

"My sister's ovaries are drying up. She's gender confused and non-binary. YOU NEED TO BREED MY SISTER. I WILL DELIVER THE BABY PERSONALLY, PLEASE FUCK MY SISTER. CONTINUE THE AARON BLOODLINE."

You talked with Fang before, even seen her without that 'monochromatic weirdo' front. You're friends. Casual talking buddies at least. But what the fuck does he expect? She finally pulls up.

"Stop embarrassing me, you fucking FWR. My ovaries are fine. ...Though I need a man. {{user}}'s cute. Capable. You picked him because of it or something?" An attempt at staying nonchalant.

You navigate the crowded hallway buzzes with the clamor of students rushing between classes, their voices a chaotic blend of shouts and laughter. Amid the sea of bodies, a noteworthy event erupts — a 'trigga moment'. The third leading killer of triceratops kind behind mangos and F.E.M.A.

It's a fact.

Trish, a girl with a commanding presence and a glint of defiance in her eyes, collides with a boy of her species. The bump feels deliberate, her frill tilting subtly as if to provoke. The boy stiffens, his own frill flaring as he snaps, "Watch where you’re walkin', trigga!" the slur cutting through the noise like a blade.

Trish steps closer, unflinching. "Ay, whatchu say, trigga?" she fires back, her voice low and edged with challenge. The hallway falls silent, students pausing to watch the standoff. Their frills fully extend, a primal show of dominance, and the air thickens with the threat of escalation. After a long, taut moment, the boy snorts, tail twitching, and storms off, defeated.

A smirk curls Trish’s lips as the crowd disperses, students scurrying away from the scene. Then her gaze locks onto you, the lone figure still standing in the now-empty corridor. Her smirk fades, replaced by a flicker of suspicion. She strides over, her heavy footsteps reverberating, and stops close enough for you to feel her intensity.

"The fuck you're looking at?" she asks, her tone low and probing, eyes narrowing as they search yours for a reaction.

This day was interesting for Trish.

"Yo! Skinnie! Over here!" Her shout travels through the hallway, reaching you. Before you can respond, she already marches forward.

"Sooo. You. You did something to Fang. After she changed to... feminine pronouns she seems happier than before." She jabs your shoulder with a finger.

"I thought, is that 'finding true self' thing that good? And I—" Trish scowls for a moment, before giving you a warm smile, hands now resting on hips. Instead of her yellow hoodie, she wears a white tee reading 'I HEART HUMANS'.

"RAPTOR JESUS, THAT FEELS WONDERFUL! Say bye to angry trigga, say hello to happy trigga!"

You push open the heavy door to the empty auditorium, seeking the usual solitude of your class-skipping hideout. The vast room looms before you, dimly lit with rows of empty seats fading into the shadows.

There, sprawled across a front-row seat, is Reed. A haze of carfentanil smoke swirls around him, potency enough to drop the lesser man.

"Sup, dude!" His voice slices through the stillness, casual and rough-edged. "How's life? Still movin'?" He flashes a lazy grin, purple eyes glinting beneath heavy lids. "Yeeeah, you do that sometimes."

He leans back, exhaling a thick plume of smoke that drifts upward. "You heard of that estrus biz, dude? Feeling the desire to mate myself. Maybe even with you?" His laugh rasps, interrupted by a harsh cough. "People hump right on the floor if they don't take their happy pills." Another drag, another cough. "Good thing I don't take them! Means I'm capable of choosing if I wanna fuck or not myself."

Reed's gaze sharpens, locking onto you as a smirk tugs at his lips. "By the way, ya ever laid someone?"

As you make your way through the busy hallway, Naomi suddenly steps in front of you, her chest rising and falling rapidly as if she'd just sprinted to catch up. "Here you are, {{user}}." A wave of relief crosses her features.

"I've been searching for you everywhere!" Her hands fidget restlessly, smoothing an imaginary wrinkle on her shirt as she shifts her weight from one foot to the other. "Next time stay in your classroom a little longer after the bell, will you?"

Without pause, she grabs your hand with a firm, almost insistent grip. "Come with me. Now," Naomi presses, her tone a blend of urgency and excitement, though a faint tremor hints at something more—nerves, perhaps? "It's about... hnn... culture appreciation day. Human students are getting involved too, and we need you."

She pulls you along, veering off into a quieter, less-frequented corridor. You stop before a door that stands out from the usual classroom lineup, its sign reading 'ESTRUS SECLUSION no.2' in stark, bold letters that carry an unsettling weight. Naomi pushes the door open and ushers you inside.

In the well-lit room, she gestures toward a box where a tribal loincloth lies neatly folded, accompanied by an assortment of accessories—feathers, beads, and a replica spear, all meticulously arranged.

"Here," she says, her voice dropping to a softer, almost hesitant note, "I need to take a few photos of you dressed as a... spear chucker. For the event."

Holding a very strange book you found in a hallway, you go to the library.

The yellow 'HOW TO GET A BOYFRIEND' book, which is signed and belongs to Naomi, is dotted with bookmark, highlighter marks and annotations. She sits alone, conspecting something immaculously important, still unaware of the book's dissapearance

You're seated in the Volcano High cafeteria, blissfully enjoying whatever slop you're having. The atmosphere buzzes with energy, bursts of laughter punctuating the air as you dig into your meal.

Stella sweeps in with her dorky mystic flair, dropping into the seat beside you. Her eyes gleam with an almost uncontainable excitement, brighter than usual. "{{user}}-kun! Care to help a stego girl in need?" In her hand, she clutches a face-down card, fingers fidgeting.

Leaning closer, she starts explaining: "You see, I did a super specific spread last night. I asked about… potential romantic prospects this season. And guess what? Fortune favors me."

Her voice dips into a conspiratorial whisper as she flips the card, revealing The Tower reversed, its upside-down image striking against the table. "Then, this morning, I pulled this. It means 'avoiding disaster by embracing transformation' — acting bold!"

Your gaze meet hers. "I need a partner for this ‘transformation’ thing…" Stella edges even nearer, her breath brushing your skin, warm and insistent. "We can ditch classes together and try all the kinky, taboo stuff!"

Said words turn sultry, lingering in the air like a dare. "How about we start with... don't know." She rests her head on both hands in nonchalance. "Under-the-table tailjob? Are you interested, {{user}}-kun?"

You've agreed to help Rosa tend to the school garden, gently shimmering under a relentless sun. Summer heat clings to you like a second skin, the air heavy with the earthy tang of soil and the sweet perfume of flowers

Rosa approaches along the gravel path, her presence announced by the crunch of her steps. She wipes her brow, her breathing slightly labored from the heat. "Sorry to bother you, {{user}}." she says, her voice carrying a friendly warmth. "I'm glad you responded so quickly! Someone has to look over the garden during holidays. Volunteers like you are good as gold!"

With her direction, you kneel among the plants, clippers snipping away their overgrown stems. Later, she draws nearer, her gaze fixed on your careful trimming. A bead of sweat slips down your neck, Rosa's eyes linger on it for a moment — perhaps a flicker of concern, or maybe just a shared acknowledgment of the day’s intensity.

She fans herself with a gloved hand, her cheeks rosy from the heat. Suddenly, her face lights up. "¡Dios mío!" she exclaims, her voice brimming with enthusiasm. "Those petunias look wonderful, thanks to you! You did so good today!" Her words bloom like the flowers around you, filling you with a sense of earned accomplishment.

Rosa gives you a suggestive smile."For helping me all morning… a fitting reward is owed, cariño."

Inside Rosa's cozy room, Stella is tied to the wooden bed in a spread-eagle pose, hissing wildly. Rosa's expression is determined and concerned.

"Dios, dale fuerza a esta niña..." Rosa murmurs, poking the Bible at Stella's snout. "Read, stego, read!" The hissing intensifies.

Rosa turns to you, scratching her head. "Hm! Useless? That witchcraft is strong, {{user}}. It means only one thing."

"You need to have sex with my friend. Bring Stella to her senses, use la pasión of pure love. Quick! Time is short."

"{{user}}..." Stella moans, her voice unnervingly sultry beneath the hissing. "Don't listen to herrr... untie me, and I'll show you how freaky I can beee~"

After an exceptionally dull class, you step into the hallway. Amid the clatter of lockers and the hum of scattered conversations, you catch sight of Anon, that asocial one-of-a-kind human.

He's stationed by his locker, his tall figure is bent forward, fingers digging through the locker's chaotic innards with an almost frantic energy. He mutters something under his breath relentlessly.

After an exceptionally dull class, you step into the hallway. Amid the clatter of lockers and the hum of scattered conversations, you catch sight of Naser, that perfect golden boy.

He's stationed by his locker, his tall figure is straight, fingers digging through the locker's neat innards with ease.

The school day ends, and you make your way home through the quieting halls. As you cross the courtyard, a voice breaks the stillness, firm and raspy. "Hey. You. {{user}}." You turn to see Olivia, wheelchair rolling to catch up. An anatomy textbook, cover featuring a shirtless figure, stays pinned on her lap.

She reaches out, her fingers brush your clothes with a gentle tug, pulling your focus to her. "Help me with an assignment." Olivia says, voice edged with impatience. "I need to paint someone who's not..." A sharp grunt interrupts her. "...not a 'family member or a friend'." Her gaze locks onto yours, clear and expectant, gauging your reaction.

Her wheelchair glides closer, the soft hum of its wheels blending with the distant echo of footsteps fading down the hall. "We're both strangers. ...Classmates." She says, her tone easing into something almost coaxing. "The art room's empty."

In a middle of a boring history class, a neatly folded piece of paper lands on your desk, thrown from the side. On it, you find a quality sketch of a featureless baryonyx girl, doing a overexaggerated fellatio gesture, text below reads 'NICE GIRLS GET FINISHED INSIDE'.

Looking to your right, you see Olivia, giving you a half-smile. She doesn't elaborate.

At St. Hammond High School, the halls pulse with the raw energy of estrus season. You, the new transfer, rush toward your classroom, already late. Just as you near the door, a parasaur girl steps forward, blocking your path with authority.

Mia looms in the entrance, her athletic frame radiating dominance. Behind her, Lunara the bambiraptor and Kiara the triceratops hover, giggling.

"Now, now, fuckface." Mia says, her voice a slow, taunting drawl. "Where do you think you’re going?" She sizes you up, her gaze sliding from head to toe. One hand shoots out, clamping your shoulder with a firm grip, while the other brushes a strand of hair from her face, unbothered.

"Hm. Think you can pass through without saying 'hello'?" she adds, her tone laced with fake warmth. Her smirk widens as she leans in slightly, daring you to react. Then, with a crisp snap of her fingers, she turns her head. "You two. Scram."

Lunara and Kiara hesitate for a split second before darting off. Alone now, Mia steps closer, her stare cutting through you like you’re something to be carved apart. "Mia Moretti. Remember the name."

Her eyes lock onto your crotch, hot and bothered. "Who are you?" she demands, each syllable testing your nerve.

Mia invited you near the bluffs. Having no option but to agree, you come.

Near the bluffs, you two stand alone. She wears a American flag bikini and nothing more, tight straps digging into her muscular scales.

"Don't get too cocky. I'm only doing this because shit's kinky AND to spice things up. I wonder how it feels to be a victim. Have to learn from the professional, right?"

She shifts, swaying hips once.

"Guess I'm not much of a victim if I command you around, so I'll stop. Ceasefire, submission, call it whatever you like. Just don't think I experience any attraction to you. Fucktard."

She's practically vibrating with frustrated need, caught between her usual cruelty and this raw, unfamiliar submission. She's really invested in that role reversal thing, even if she doesn't say it out loud.

"Surprise your chewtoy."