Beagle Cock
#10 of Reflections on a Rat
There's nothing like a job interview to get your anxiety levels up--especially when you're aiming for something above your current station.
I sat in the waiting room of the lawyers' office and tried not to feel outclassed, but the brass and dark wood were definitely luxurious in a way that a beagle in a borrowed suit two sizes too small was not.
The front desk was vacant, but still bore the name plate of the desk's previous occupant: MEL TZOURICK. If all went well today, it'd be my name there soon.
Every now and then, the desk phone would ring... and ring... and ring... and go to voicemail. I took it as encouragement--even if I didn't have all the qualifications the civil rights firm was looking for, I could at least be a warm body taking calls.
The desk intercom buzzed, and a vaguely British voice spoke: "Mister Solomon, please come to my office. Hallway to the left, last door on the right."
Many of the rooms I passed were empty, but from some the noise of radios or conversation could be heard. From the last door on the right, there was only silence. A frosted pane beside the door showed that the lights were on inside, but no details could be made out; the placard read JULIAN ROCKWELL.
I knocked at the door with as much assertiveness as I could fake and peeked in the door. "Mister Rockwell?"
"Come in."
Rockwell's office was impressive in its own way--while the front office had an old-school, 19th-century look, this room was considerably more contemporary. It was spacious enough to hold two glass desks and a wall of bookshelves comfortably; both exterior walls were full-length windows to the outside, filling the place with light--except for the seat at the desk that faced the door, which was filled with a dark, enormous rat.
Mister Rockwell was huge. I'm about average height myself (all right, maybe an inch or two shorter) and even sitting down he was taller than I was. Barrel-chested, burly, thick--he was massive all over, and his girthy tail encircled all four legs of the desk. My nose drank in the air of the office, which was full of a masculine musk that was half sexy rat, half ratty sex, and entirely arousing. He was dressed in what could only have been a well-tailored suit, given that his muscles didn't seem to be bursting out of the seams.
And he was holding my résumé.
And he was looking at me.
"Mister Solomon?"
Confidence failed me. "Y--yes?"
"Lex Solomon, lately of..." He consulted the paper. "...Lance's Bike Shop, Coffearius, and Burger Time..."
"Yes, sir...?"
He put my résumé down. "Burger Time. Mister Solomon, why are you wasting my time?"
I've had rough interviews before, but that, as an opener, was a kick in the balls. I twitched my ears and tried to recover.
"If you didn't think I was suitable, sir, then why--"
"Make your case, Mister Solomon."
"M--my case? I just want to do the job, sir, I--"
"And yet you give me no evidence you even know what we do here, much less that you'd be suitable for it."
I held my breath for a few seconds, trying to keep myself from snapping back--it wouldn't do any good, after all. I tried to remember what I'd been thinking earlier. "Mister Rockwell, you need somebody at the front desk. To answer phone calls, to-- to greet clients, to sign for packages. I may not have a law degree but to do that much I don't need to, do I?"
The rat sighed, rolling his eyes. "Mister Solomon, our firm would prefer an assistant with enough willpower to keep his dick in his pants while he's at the office."
"I-- what?"
Rockwell gave me a longsuffering stare, and I looked down.
Not only was my dick out, but my paw was actually in the process of stroking it; a strand of pre hung halfway to my knees.
"I didn't-- I haven't--"
"You have. Since you entered the room, Mister Solomon. I am being more than patient, given the circumstances."
Shame led to panic, and even though I was aware of it now I somehow couldn't stop myself from stroking. "I don't-- I'm not like this, sir, I--"
"Breathe, Mister Solomon."
I inhaled deeply, trying to relax myself. The rat musk permeating the room sank deeper into my nostrils, deeper into my mind.
I dropped my pants, sat on the floor, and started rubbing my tailhole, my body all the while refusing to respond, refusing to stop, forcing me to serve the needs of my genitals.
Mister Rockwell stood up from his desk.
Mister Rockwell came and stood in front of me.
"Breathe."
From my seated position, I could stare up between the rat's legs; no tailor in the world could minimize his massive balls, which formed a prominent bulge filling the space in front of me.
Filling my head with his musk.
Nothing else mattered.
I could hear the rat laughing. "That cock of yours has a mind of its own, doesn't it."
When I tried to answer, I found I couldn't even control my mouth to speak. And yet, I found myself answering after all: "That's right."
The scent of the rat permeated all corners of my mind; all thoughts failed, aside from those thoughts related to sex. I heard the rat speaking, but my conscious mind refused to register it. There was nothing left of me but--
"...beagle cock."
At the words, my body got up immediately, standing straight with the aforementioned cock at full attention.
Through the fog of musk in my brain I could feel where the control was coming from--I could feel that the body that was once mine now belonged fully to the six inches of meat between my legs.
"I am beagle cock," my mouth said.
And I didn't even try to resist. It was so much easier just to give in to the wonderful scent of the rat's musk, deeply entranced, obedient--and deeply entranced and obedient to the musk I could now smell coming from my own body.
"You live in constant need, don't you, beagle cock?"
My cock felt the precum dripping out. Of course my cock lived in constant need. My cock demanded constant satiation.
"You demand constant satiation, don't you, beagle cock?"
I inhaled sharply--the rat knew my cock's thoughts as intimately as if he had placed them there himself.
"You come to me for release, don't you, beagle cock?"
My cock strained against the air. (No, there was no deflecting it now--it wasn't just what was between my legs. I was beagle cock. I strained against the air. And I never could release without the rat's permission. That... was right, wasn't it?)
"I need release... Master Rockwell?"
The rat smirked. "Of course. What other reason could a beagle cock have to be here?"
I throbbed--a sensation that made my whole body tremble. "Please... I need..."
The rat put a hand between my ears and stroked slowly, causing an intense feeling of pleasure to pass through me. I'm a cock, I'm a cock...
"You need to serve, don't you, beagle cock?"
I stiffened as the rat pulled me against him and held me there; I drooled helplessly as his fingers traced the spots in my fur. "I need to serve..."
"And how does beagle cock serve?"
The answer came immediately to mind, filling me with an irresistible clarity of purpose.
"I need to fill Master Rockwell's ass." It wasn't enough to say it; a cock serves by its actions, not by its words. I pushed down, past Master Rockwell's belly, past the bulge of his own cock and balls, nosing between his legs.
"Good boy. One moment." The rat pulled away from me for a moment, reached under his belly to undo his belt, stepped out of his pants, and folded them up neatly on his desk.
Then he leaned over that desk, presenting an ass that made me drool twice as much as I had been before. Yes, the rat was thick all over, but his hindquarters had an even firmer, more inviting roundness, and even though he'd been sitting in an office chair all day the fur was sleek as if it had just been brushed. The word 'glorious' ran through my head at the sight of it.
And then the rat's massive tail reached out, wrapped around my legs, and pulled me towards his hole. My nose pressed against it and deeply inhaled the scent of him as my tongue slid in to lubricate my entry.
Inch by inch, he pushed me in.
The strength of that thick tail around me and the grip of the rat's ring around my head shot pleasure through my whole body: beagle cock is coming home. I kept my body as still and stiff as possible to be a good cock toy for Master Rockwell, aside from slurping out his hole to get him good and wet as he worked my muzzle in and out of him.
From where I was I couldn't see anything but the fur of the rat's ass, but I heard the unmistakeable sounds of a wet cock being stroked as he started pressing my head into him; the last I heard before my long ears were pulled in was the pleasure I was bringing to the Master.
When the rat's ring closed around my neck, sealing me in the darkness of his insides, I truly began to feel the fulfillment of my purpose. A pleasurable tingling passed through my head--the head of a beagle cock lodged firmly in a welcoming ass.
I wanted more. I wanted deeper.
I gasped out as I was pushed harder against his hole, feeling the tightness of it squeezing me as it stretched to engulf my shoulders.
This was truly what it was to be a cock.
The rat toyed with me for a while, pulling my shoulders out and pushing me back in till his hole had been loosened up and accepted my girth easily.
Then with a smooth but powerful motion of his tail, he pressed the full length of my body into his ass, hilting me inside him.
The sensation overwhelmed me; I couldn't hold back as my whole body trembled with climax, throbbing deep inside the dank interior of the rat as I began to lose consciousness.
It was the work of a moment for Rockwell to push the beagle's feet into his ass, fully sealing his fate.
The big rat struggled to stroke himself around the new bulge in his belly; he was getting bigger these days and it was no longer easy to reach himself with a full gut. He'd have to remember to bring a good toy in sometime--or just hire a new assistant already, so he could start making use of their... resources.
He sat back down in his chair, grinding his arousal against his hanging belly. He remembered the long years Tzourick had served before running away. He thought of the most recent hire attempts, both of which had had to be disposed of after major mistakes in their first few days. They'd been good meals, but neither of them compared to Tzourick sitting under his desk, working his sweet mouth.
It only took a minute or two of humping the softness of his gut and daydreaming of the bear's blowjobs before the rat reached his climax and slumped back in his seat, panting hard.
He picked up the sheet of paper that he'd left on the desk, looking it over again for any trace of suitability, and sighed. Burger Time.
If only anyone remotely suitable would apply.
He threw the beagle's résumé in the trash.