Deeper Secrets
#9 of Reflections on a Rat
I slept in on Sunday morning till it was already Sunday afternoon. My mates had already gotten up, leaving me the whole big warm bed to sprawl out in--which basically meant rolling into the deep indentation in the mattress where Rockwell had been sleeping.
Now, don't get me wrong--I love big guys, and have grown a good deal myself--but the giant rat had been growing huge since we started living together, his predilection for hefty meals quickly adding the inches to his waistline. When the three of us were in bed, me and Matty were very much on the edge and near to falling off.
Having a big warm beast to cuddle is amazing, but sometimes you need a bit of space so a deeper sleep can come to join you.
I napped some more until the smell of food induced me to finally sit up in bed.
Though the clock was asserting it was 2 p.m., the aroma was of breakfast--bacon, potatoes, eggs, biscuits, cinnamon rolls--it was the weekend, after all.
I rolled out of bed, didn't bother getting dressed, and went downstairs to the kitchen where my kangaroo was at the counter putting together all the fixin's of a massive meal.
But of course the real commanding presence in the room was Rockwell.
Rocky was six and a half feet tall and as thick as me and Mattock put together. He sat at the kitchen table--filling up two chairs and encircling it with his fat tail--and looked me over as he ate from a bowl of oatmeal.
He always seemed... somehow out of place when he was at home with us. I was so used to the rat being a force one encountered out in the wild: Rockwell is sumptuous hotel rooms, Rockwell is filthy public toilets, Rockwell is the grungy subway.
Rockwell isn't... domestic.
And yet that force of nature was here, sitting in my kitchen, eating oatmeal.
I couldn't even remember how it had happened--how I'd achieved the singular honor of the rat choosing to roost with us.
But the very idea of having him in the house always felt like a novelty.
He liked to use us in play. That wasn't new, of course, but since he'd moved in... life had become increasingly surreal as he used control over our minds and bodies to help him fulfill the random whims in his head.
We were little more than his toys but, make no mistake, I was loving every minute of it. The old game of wondering how the rat was changing us for the day was now a regular occurrence.
I went up and kissed both my guys hello--first sliding my snout under my roo's tail to smooch his hole, then sitting between the chairs that Rockwell's rump straddled, nuzzling up to give his ass a much more passionate kiss. (I never could resist slipping him some tongue.)
"Mmm. Good morning, toilet skunk."
I loved the sound of his voice, that sweet London accent always making me overlook the silly things he'd say sometimes. I wasn't a skunk after all--I was just a toilet.
I mean--I was sure I had a species of some kind. But that wasn't relevant to anything, was it? I was just a toilet, and toilets are made to serve.
And yet as I pressed my snout against the rat's hole, pushing in deep so I could fulfill my duties, I felt my mind seize up as though a monkey wrench had been thrown in the works.
No, I'm not a toilet--I'm absolutely a skunk.
No, I'm not a skunk, I'm--
The thought wouldn't finish. There was a terrifying... hesitation when my brain tried to fill in that blank.
What am I-- the thought began.
What am I going to be?
There was a scrape of chairs sliding across the floor, and suddenly I was absolutely a skunk again as Rockwell left the room.
I stayed there on the floor and leaned against a chair as I tried to recover from what had happened. Clearly that had been Rockwell's doing, but Rockwell... did not ordinarily choke like that.
I went after him.
Rockwell was back in the bedroom, looking out at the afternoon sun from his place on the bed.
I tried to go to him, but my legs wouldn't cooperate when I tried to cross the threshold.
"Rocky..."
He sighed and looked back at me, opening his mouth like he was going to talk, but then thinking better of it.
"I just... I want to make sure you're all right," I said.
There was a feeling of dizziness, and without transition I was sitting by the rat--and it was growing dark outside. It took me a moment to realize why the afternoon had suddenly ended.
"This conversation hasn't been working out, has it," I said.
Rockwell gave me a sharp look, and I knew I'd guessed right. After all, that's what you'd do if you could rewrite people's minds, isn't it? If you regret something you just said, you erase the memory of it and try the conversation over again.
Which is fine the first one or two times--nobody'll miss a couple of minutes lost in a conversation. But if it takes a long time...
Suddenly it was fully night outside and dark in the room, save for a bit of moonlight in Rockwell's eyes.
"Hey," I said, putting a handpaw on his. "Maybe... maybe we shouldn't talk for now. I don't..."
It was hard not knowing what was really going on and not having as much time to think about what was going on as he had, but the flow of time made one thing clear. "I don't know what it is I must be reacting to so badly. But if it really is so terrible... you don't have to tell me. Not right now. I know... you probably feel the pressure to be the powerful dom all the time and have everything under control. But... I'm your mate. If you can't let go with me--"
He took my paws in his and stared me in the face. Even in the dimness his eyes were bright and... almost fierce.
"Hungry after a long day...?" I offered hopefully. (I loved to spend the nights warm in his gut.)
He shook his head and made the eye contact a little more intense.
"I... I can guess how--"
"Hush a moment. Just look at me."
I stopped and I looked.
I saw the giant rat who'd been with us so long I couldn't even tell you when he'd moved in. I saw the glory of his body, soft but powerful, overwhelmingly masculine, and those fierce, irresistible eyes. I saw the rat I loved.
"Keep looking."
I saw the giant rat who'd been with us for a few weeks. I saw the body I'd admired, soft but powerful, overwhelmingly masculine, and those fierce eyes. I saw the rat who owned me.
"Keep looking." His voice cracked a little.
I saw... someone I almost didn't recognize. I mean, sure, it was the big rat who'd been with us for a few weeks. He was big, but his proportions were different--maybe a little softer--and while he was certainly still attractive to a chubby chaser like me, he wasn't the paragon of masculinity I was familiar with. And even in the dimness I could see his eyes were red around the edges, like a sadness had struck him.
For the first time in my life, I saw Rockwell.
I leaned in and kissed his muzzle deeply.
He blinked and broke the kiss, and the glamour reasserted itself--Rockwell was the Rockwell I remembered again.
"You're still only a toy," he said.
"I know."
Rockwell stood up and turned to face me, putting his paws on my shoulders. His massive gut filled my field of vision and I thought about how lucky I was to have him.
"And I never got to use my toy... my toilet this morning," he said, and pushed me on my back as he clambered onto the bed, straddling my body.
He didn't ask for permission--he never did. If he wanted us to like it, we'd like it; if he wanted us to struggle, we'd struggle, but either way he did with people as he pleased. It wasn't just me--everyone was only a toy to him.
And so I looked up into the rat's glorious rump as it covered my face, feeling his weight press down on my snout till it popped into his tailhole with a squelch.
I never did get tired of this.
The stink of the rat's hole flooded my nostrils as I went to work cleaning him out from the inside.
Rockwell's hole was familiar territory by now and I had gotten much better at slavering over every inner surface with my tongue, clearing out the daily muck and eating my fill. I reached down to stroke my dick and I could feel little twitches around his anal ring as he stroked his own.
I could smell it coming, the first log of scat working its way through the big rat's guts--and then I felt the subtle way his hole opened up around my snout a little as it widened to make room for it--and then it was in my face, the massive turd forcing its way into my muzzle.
The taste of the rat's shit was something that could never be predicted and could not easily be described. I knew, on one level, that I tasted exactly what Rockwell wanted me to taste: if he wanted me to have a hard time, it was foul muck that made the eyes water, putrid sludge that set off the gag reflex--but on the other hand sometimes I couldn't get enough of the earthy flavor and ate hungrily from his ass like it was a better dinner than anything Mattock could come up with.
Tonight it was practically a gourmet experience, and I pushed my snout deeper and deeper into that hole with eagerness to fill my gut on Rockwell's scat.
He ground his rump against my face as he continued to strain, more and more of that thick shit finding its way down my throat. I could feel it collecting in my swelling gut as I stroked myself hard.
I could hear him grunt as the bowel movement came to an end--all too soon for me, really, but one takes what one can get. The big rat slid himself off my snout slowly, holding his hole just above my face till I got the hint and started licking his ass as clean as I could with my filthy tongue.
Obviously it was pretty much a hopeless endeavor given how dirty my face was, but he let me work his hole for a good several minutes before standing up again.
I looked up at him as he stood beside me, and from his stance I could see what he needed immediately. I turned and lay my head at the edge of the bed, looking directly up at his crotch and opening my muzzle as he pointed his dick down at my face.
"You're not going to swallow yet," he said. "I want you to smell like me."
So I kept my mouth shut as the rat's piss stream started, soaking the fur of my chest and belly, a pungent musk filling my nostrils as he aimed it towards my face as well. "OINK," I said.
Rockwell aimed his piss at my muzzle, the flow filling my maw for a few moments before he stuffed his dick inside it as well. I wrapped my arms around as much of the rat's thighs as I could reach and I suckled straight from the tap, feeling my belly fill even further.
The rat's piss was rank and powerful, a sharp-tasting flood that I knew it was my duty to swallow as much of as possible.
I'm a good toilet, after all.
My urinal duty, too, was all too soon at an end, and I lay suckling on his stiffening shaft for a good while afterward, revelling in the intimacy of my head between my rat's thighs, that massive scrotum of his smothering my face.
I knew he wouldn't let me get him off--he never did--but I enjoyed it while it lasted, going back to stroking my own dick and very soon blasting a load across my piss-covered belly.
He pulled out of my muzzle and climbed over me, back into the bed. "Come lie down. Just you and me tonight--Mattock'll be fine on the couch."
He wrapped his thick tail around me as I took my place at his side, and he pushed me up till my snout was buried deep in his armpit. "This is your home, isn't it..."
I murmured a sleepy affirmation as his intense, cultivated musk worked its way into my nostrils, subduing me immediately. Of course this was my home--it was where Rockwell was, after all.
He put an arm around me, heedless of the filth I was covered in, and as I drifted off to sleep in the arms of the rat I belonged to, I heard him--just barely--reprising the question, as though trying to convince himself:
"Is this my home...?"