Someone Else's Shoes
"Someone Else's Shoes"
by K.M. Hirosaki ([[email protected]](%5C))
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This story and all characters are copyright (c) 2006 K.M. Hirosaki.
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The morning has gone by and I've barely even been paying any attention to it. I think I've lost about two hours to futzing around on my computer without getting any work done. Well, whatever. I can't be the only person in the office slacking off today, and if I happen to lack the drive to get anything done today, then that's just how it's going to be. It's not that I don't care about my job; it's just that my mind is elsewhere, and it'd take more effort than would be worth it to bring it back to work.
"Hey, A.J.!" someone barks. I look up, and it's Trent, the wolf from down in PR, hanging his head and both of his arms over the wall of my cube. Fucker. For a second, he actually had me thinking someone important had come to check up on me.
"Yeah, what's up?" I ask, and as I look up (even though I know Trent could care less) I make sure to tab back over to my email client. Maybe if the boss hears us yakking he'll drop by and make sure we're not wasting valuable company minutes.
Trent doesn't seem at all aware of the fact that I'm pissed at him for interrupting my procrastinating, because he's got this dopey, typical canine grin on his face. "We're going to grab some coffee. Want to come with?"
"Who's 'we?'" I ask. It'd be an excuse to get up and do something for fifteen minutes, but given the choice between spending fifteen minutes being bored and fifteen minutes hanging out with Trent, I'd choose the former given insufficient backup.
"Me, Melody, and Josh," Trent says.
Sorry, no dice. Josh is kind of all right, I guess, but Melody's even more vapid and clueless than Trent, most days. "Ah, I think I'll pass," I say. "I already had two double espressos today; any more and I think I might have an aneurysm."
"All right," the wolf says. "Just don't work too hard." He doesn't look too upset. Really, I think he only asked to be polite: he doesn't want a little faggot like me accidentally rubbing off on him, I'm sure, and I could do just fine without his company. Besides, I really have had a lot of coffee today.
So, Trent goes away, and I turn back to look at my monitor. No new emails in my inbox. Nothing new since before noon, actually. Shit, have I really been just fucking around for almost three hours? At least I'm salaried.
I consider making up some excuse to ditch a few hours early since I don't have anything to do here, anyway, but I don't want to press my luck. I'm sure everyone in this office wants an early jump on the weekend, but they can all wait until five like everyone else. Well, everyone but the VP, who's already ducked out, I see, after peeking a glance over at his office. Go figure.
I'm supposed to meet up with Feng tonight. We're going to head on into the city, hit a club or two, and get us some boys. Well, get us some cock. Six of one, half dozen of the other, really, especially when it comes to Feng and me. And god, come to think of it, having a half dozen boys on me sounds like it'd be just want the doctor ordered. See, now if the VP wants to motivate a guy like me to make his numbers, he just needs to provide better incentives, that's all.
Since there's nothing warranting my attention in my inbox, I switch back over to my web browser. I've already read all of my usual sites today, though--some of them twice--and I can't think of anything fun to check out. My mind's stuck on sex again, but unfortunately, I know the folks in IT keep tabs on what we look at: a few blogs or such on company time, that's fine, but if they catch little A.J. downloading hardcore gay porn, well, then little A.J. is looking for a new job.
You know what, though? If the VP is gone, who the hell is going to care if I ditch early? And who's going to rat on me? Trent? I don't think so. Dithering around here is a waste of my time, so I might as well go and do something productive. Do I even bother sending out an email to the department saying I'm leaving?
Nah.
I check everything one last time, just to make sure I'm not missing anything that might be vaguely important, because I'll feel like a fucking idiot if I missed some piddling five-minute task in my rush to shirk responsibilities. Besides, I'm one of those folks who always gets that "Did I leave the gas on?" feeling, and I don't want to suddenly find myself thinking about expense reports if--no, when I've got a cock in my mouth later tonight. (Motivation. Gotta remember my motivation.)
The hard-on in my slacks tells me that I've made the right decision in choosing to leave. Man, I can't wait to see Feng. Not just because he'll get me off, either. I mean, yeah, sure, he'll get me off, and it'll be great, but I just... I dunno, I want to see him, and I want to forget about shit like Trent and inboxes and expense reports. He's good at helping me forget things like that.
It looks like I'm not the only person who decided to leave the office early, today, but for the most part, the road are nice and clear and I get home in half the time it usually takes me. That, right there, is reason enough for me to be happy, and as I grab myself a glass of ice water, get out of my collared shirt, and flop down onto my couch, I let out the sort of sigh you'd expect from someone who actually put in a hard, full-day's work.
By this point, I'm not hard anymore, but that's fine, because I'd rather not jerk off if I can at all avoid it. Feng's got first dibs on me, tonight, and he's a fox who likes to swallow, and so I don't want to disappoint him. Sure, I won't be the main event, but if you're going to let your friend blow you, make it worth his while; he'd afford me the same courtesy, I know. Right now, he's probably still sitting at work, looking forward to the exact same thing I am, after all.
I take tiny little sips of my water. I'm thirsty, for some reason, but I want to savor it. Now that I've already escaped work's clutches, I can have all the patience in the world--not that my boss seems to have much in the way of patience, himself, and so again, it's hard to bring myself to care, and so I don't.
There's still a couple of hours to go before I'm supposed to meet Feng, though, and I don't want to get impatient all over again. I consider taking a nap, telling myself I'm going to want to save my strength for all the exertion I'll doubtlessly put myself through later, but when I walk on into my bedroom, the blinking light on my answering machine catches my attention instead. I press the button, and then I flump down onto my bed and listen.
"Hey there, bunny boy." Fucking hell, I hate when people call me 'bunny.' "This is Raoul--you know, from last weekend?" Ah, yes, Raoul--I could scarcely forget! He's not the most well-hung dingo I've ever met, but holy shit, that boy knows how to fuck and then some. You hear stories about being fucked raw, yeah, I know, but seriously, after a few hours with Raoul, I doubted my ability to walk again the next morning. In a way, that's actually kind of fun--more fun that you might think, really--and just hearing his voice was bringing back memories that touched on the physical.
"So, I was wondering," Raoul continues, and I almost space out to the point where I don't hear him. "I mean, I guess you're probably at work or school or something right now, but if you want to give me a call when you get this, maybe you and I could go out someplace tonight? Or maybe tomorrow night? I gave you my number, I think, but I case I didn't..."
Raoul starts to rattle off his number, but I stop listening. Feng likes to give me a hard time when I ditch him at the last minute, and also, I don't know if I want to be all raw and sore two weekends in a row (or, if I do, I'd at least like it to be with someone else so it's a little different). The dingo keeps going after leaving his number, but I'm already done paying attention to whatever else he has to say: it's not like he wants to take me to a nice dinner and a movie when I've already put out for him on the night we met.
That's the problem with being a slut and a romantic: you want to have your cake and eat it, too, but most of the time, you're stuck choosing between getting fucked and getting fucked over.
The machine beeps. Raoul's is the only message. I just keep lying there, though, taking a load off. I don't nap or fall asleep, but I just let myself drift off into that state where you're only kinda-sorta thinking about anything, and so you might as well be asleep, and you're just... not, you know?
Actually, I hate falling asleep in the middle of the day, especially early evening, because it royally fucks with my sense of time. One time, I fell asleep at around four o'clock or so, and when I woke up, my clock said it was seven, so I went and took a shower and ate breakfast before I realized that the sunrise was on the wrong side of the house. That shit messes with your head.
I lean up to check my clock just because I'm afraid of that happening again. It's a little before four, actually, which means that maybe I did fall asleep for ten or fifteen minutes or so, but that's okay--I can recover from that. Feng's not going to be home for another hour and a half or so, based on when he usually gets out, but I don't want to just lie here, so I drag my tail out of bed and go through my closet.
What to wear? What's Feng going to be wearing, actually? He's always getting these new outfits, so trying to guess ahead of time can be a useless exercise, and it's not like boytoys need to color coordinate, anyway. Besides, I could wear the hottest outfit in the cosmos and Feng would still find away to look better than me, and I don't mean that in a jealous way at all--he's just fucking hot, and if the clothes make the man, like they say, then his clothes make him even hotter.
Motivation, I tell myself again. Feng might be the hottest fox this side of anywhere, but I'm not so bad, myself (and I've got memories of soreness to prove it). Keep it simple, though, I tell myself, and so I look through my less elaborate stuff. A pair of denim cutoffs catch my eye, and I grab them and hold them up: they'll be a little tight, but that's how I (and more importantly, how the other boys) like 'em. If I'm going to go with scraggly minimalism, then, I can't do anything too fancy for a top, so I fish through my shirts until I settle on a plain black croptop that, to be honest, would probably look better on Feng than it does on me, but as I parade my dressed-up little body in front of the mirror, even I have to admit that, okay, I'll be able to catch myself a man or two tonight. Besides, black goes with everything. Feng told me once that my pelt makes me look like a cappuccino. Maybe that's true if I'm naked or something, but hopefully guys look at me and think 'sex' before they think 'coffee.'
Let's see. By the time I get to Feng's place, even accounting for heavy traffic, I'll still get there before he does. Crud. I'm all dressed up, and I've got places to go, but I've got too much time on my paws. Maybe I could swing by the office, find Trent, and tell him that I've reconsidered that invitation for coffee. It'd almost be worth getting fired just to see the look on his face. Almost.
Instead, I just swing by a coffee shop on my way over. I get myself a double espresso.
When I get to Feng's apartment, I'm pretty sure it's still too early for him to be home, but I knock on his door anyway. Nope, not home. The caffeine has me all jittery now, too, so I'm impatient and unable to keep still. I pace. I alternate between leaning against the wall, examining patterns in the cracks on the wall, and checking out my claws. Maybe I should've painted them before heading out. Clubs are dark, though; nobody would notice.
My ears swivel as I catch the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs. I swing around and lean up against the door, waiting and looking nonchalant in case it's Feng. It is.
Even in his sterile, inoffensive shirt-and-tie office getup, the fox is still a looker. The illusion is an intriguing one: he looks like your average, everyday guy, and anybody who happened to catch sight of him on his way home from work would probably never imagine where he'll be in a couple of hours. He flashes me a smile that's just naughty enough to show what he's really thinking.
"You're early," he says, and then he reaches into his pockets for his keys.
I step away from the door and let the fox unlock it. "Couldn't wait. Decided to head home a little early today. Besides, it was kind of tough concentrating on work, anyway."
Feng laughs, and it's almost too innocent, considering the debauchery we're planning on indulging ourselves in tonight. "I know how you feel," he says, pushing the door open.
Fueled by espresso and excitement, I let my playful side take over. Before Feng can invite me in, I'm already inviting myself in, squeezing in between the fox and the wall, stifling a giggle as he makes a little sound of surprise, and then I bound right over to his couch and sit myself down.
The smell of fox hits me as I sink into the cushions, but it's not Feng's scent--no, it's Lai's. With my nose reminding me of what my brain's tried to not dwell on, I get hit by a momentary burst of jealousy for the other fox. Feng could go out tonight, blow half the guys we meet, and at the end of the day, he'll still be Lai's little fox, and really, they're the most adorable couple in the whole fucking world and I love them both to death, but god damn if I don't feel justified in my jealousy.
I lean back into the couch. "So, you think you're going to land that raccoon of yours tonight?" I ask. Better to remind Feng of what he and I have in common.
The fox sits down next to me. "I already landed him last week," he says, and he gives me a cute poke to the shoulder. "Remember?"
"I dunno, I was pretty trashed." Which is true, but I must've been too busy thinking of ways to get into Raoul's pants to have noticed. "So, does that mean he's open?" I ask.
"He's all yours if you want him," the fox says. "He wasn't all that great, though. I don't think you'd like him." Feng knows what I like. Feng also likes to call me a knot-chaser. I let out a sigh. "Ah, whatever. I don't know if I'm in the mood for raccoon, anyway."
"You'll have the whole night to make up your mind," Feng says, and then, he's got his slender vulpine self sliding onto the floor in front of me. I'm waiting for him to just dive right on into my shorts, but first, he takes the time to unbutton the sleeves of his work shirt. Prim and proper, even when it comes to blowing his friends. This is why I love Feng.
I smile at him, because hell, how can I not? I'm still calm--not hard, yet, because since I've known this has been coming, that kills a lot of the nervous anticipation and lets me retain some composure. It also means that Feng gets to get me hard all through his own playful talents, and I like giving him that. His practiced fingers find me after he gets my shorts open, and my little foxy pal just knows how to touch me by this point.
"So, do you have your outfit picked out for tonight?" I ask. The small talk accentuates the fact that we're friends that just happen to do this sort of thing all the time, and I think that turns Feng on as much as it does me. God, I'm surprised I'm not hard already.
"Sure do," the fox replies, and then he gives the tip of my cock a cute little kiss, making my pulse surge down there. "I think you'll like it."
I reach down and start to play with one of his ears--Feng likes having his ears played with, so much that I sometimes wonder if he's a rabbit trapped in a fox's body. He lets out a little murr of appreciation. "Yeah? Is it another new one, I take it?" I ask him.
He nods, and I think he's about to say more, but instead, his lips close down at my tip again, and then his tongue starts to tickle my slit. It catches me off guard, and it's suddenly very obvious that I need him to do this to me before we head out, or otherwise, I'd be liable to get off in my shorts if some hot guy were to so much as look at me the right way. I squirm and I groan, and I briefly consider letting myself go right then and there, but I can't deny Feng his fun, now, can I?
Luckily, I know what Feng likes for fun, and if he wants to be a naughty little tease, I can be a tease right back. I get a little rougher with his ear, and then I ask, "So, what kind of outfit is it?" He starts to pull back, but I keep my hold on his ear and I buck my hips upward to stuff my shaft back up into his hot, damp muzzle. The cutest look plays across his face when he winces, too. God, I love that.
The fox doesn't even break his stride, though. He doesn't sputter or gag or anything, and once he's clear, he slides his muzzle back off of me and he smiles. "Sort of like yours. Nice and revealing, as always."
"Don't even know why you feel you need that," I say, trying to keep my voice steady even as he wraps his paw around my wet shaft and starts stroking it. "One look at your pretty muzzle should bring most guys around." I give said muzzle a nice, appraising touch, playing with his whiskers and letting my fingertips feel the short fur.
"Well, if that was all I was after, I could just stay here with you," he says, winking at me before he slides his snout right back down over my shaft. To be honest, I would just stay here with him, the two of us just casually playing around with each other until it got so late that I either had to go home or got invited to sleep on the couch, but like he says, I'm not all that he's after. Come tonight, I'll probably be craving some more action, myself, and so for the moment, I try to just enjoy things for what they are.
We're done teasing, now: I don't say anything, he doesn't say anything, and the only sounds are my breathing and the occasional wet slurp or slide from Feng's lips or tongue. When I get tense, I have to lean my head back and close my eyes, because Feng can trigger me in five seconds flat if he plays his cards right, but for now, he's taking his time, and that makes me happy, because I do enjoy watching him go to work like the little pro he is. I like to think I'm not too shabby, myself, but I could still probably learn a thing or two from him.
I hit the point where it's too much effort to fight off the pleasure, and my hand slips from his cheek to the back of his head as I empty out into his mouth. I stay quiet, muffling my own moans so that I can hear his, and even with his eyelids closed, I can see how happy he is as he swallows. He pulls back nice and slow, smiling as my spent member slips free from between his lips, and he braces a paw on my leg as he gets to his feet in front of me.
My paws go to his pants, then, fingers hooking into the waistband, behind the belt. "Now, then," I say, biting my own tongue to keep my anticipation in check. "Let's get to work on you, then, foxy."
Feng reaches down and he pats me between the ears. He's got an endearing little smile on his face that makes me even more eager to return the favor he's just given me, but just as I'm about ready to undo his belt, his other hand brushes my paws away. "You know, I think that'd do me more harm than good right now," he says, and that makes me blink. "Plus, I need to take a shower before I get changed, too."
Something in his tone of voice tells me that he's not trying to slight me--not intentionally, at any rate. Maybe it's just another of his little games? "Aww. You sure?" I ask, rubbing my palm up and down between his legs, but I don't feel anything stirring within his slacks.
"Tell you what," Feng says, unbuttoning his shirt, giving me a good look at his pretty white chest and belly before he starts walking away. "If midnight rolls around, and it doesn't look like either of us are getting anywhere, you can suck my dick all you want."
"I'm going to hold you to that!" I call out just as the fox slips into the bathroom. Knot-chaser, indeed. Feng's not going to be unattached come midnight unless we accidentally go to a club full of blind guys. Not when he's dressed like that.
The sound of the shower carries through the door, and so I just kick back and relax on the couch, waiting. I'm in no hurry, but I can't help but wish I could slip onto into that shower with him. My brain has a hard time coming up with reasons why Feng suddenly doesn't want his dick sucked; I'm surprised enough that he wasn't rock hard already when he got home.
I hope it doesn't have anything to do with him being afraid I'm too attached to him. That doesn't make sense though, does it? I don't think he would've still sucked my dick if that were the case.
Feng pops out of the bathroom, then, and I get to see his naked body for just a second before he scurries down the hall to his bedroom, tail trailing behind him. My pulse quickens, and I start to imagine what sort of outfit he's going to come out with. Lots of tantalizing possibilities occur to me, but when he actually reappears, I'm stunned.
"Ta-da!" he yips, hopping out from the hallway. He's got on a deep brown leather vest, and at first I think it's just hanging open, but then I notice the glints of silver--a trio of chains spans the gap from one side of the vest to the other. My eyes make their way down to his shorts (which look like they're a set with the vest) and as if on cue, the fox spins around, full circle, showing me that the back of those shorts doesn't even come up past the root of his tail. I can see the top of his butt, and there's no sign of any underwear. "How do I look?" he asks, facing forward once again.
"Like a complete and total slut." I mean it as a compliment, and I know he takes it as such. I get my ass off the couch and walk over to him, getting an even closer look at the pure hotness he's exuding. "I'll be surprised if aren't lining up all the way out the front door to get a turn at your ass."
Feng snatches his keys off of his table. "One step at a time," he says, and he clicks his tongue and I fall into step behind him. His tail wags as we make our way to his car, and I can't blame him: if I looked like that, I'd be pretty damn excited as well.
Our first stop, though, is to get some eats. Thanks to the caffeine killing my appetite, I'm not even hungry until Feng mentions the idea of getting food, and then I'm ravenous. We're not exactly dressed to sit down in a nice restaurant, though (at least, not in this part of town), so we just hit the drive-thru instead. We both flirt with the teller, who's polite enough to pretend not to notice, and then we just eat as we do. Feng's got down the careful balancing act of eating and driving at the same time; never let it be said that the boy isn't good with his paws.
While I'm busy stuffing my snout with food that's bound to go straight to my hips, Feng regales me with the story of his day at work. The lucky S.O.B. somehow managed to blow a straight guy in the IT closet before lunch! Now, I like to think I have skill, and I've probably blown at least or two straight (or nominally straight) guys in my life, but I don't think my hardcore flirting skills would be up to snuff at 10am. Maybe "luck" really is the right word to use, especially since he tells me that, afterwards, he got another one of his coworkers to fuck him in one of the conference rooms.
He gets a double-dicking; I get Trent. Somehow I doubt he'd agree to swapping coworkers with me.
The rest of the drive in uneventful. We banter, and it helps us both ignore the tangle of inner city traffic, which always sucks on nights like tonight. The closer we get to the club, though, the more anxious I become. I considering making a playful bet with Feng about which one of us gets into some guy's pants first, but even if it's just a friendly thing, I know I'm going to feel bad if I lose. Instead, I keep my filthy ideas to myself, and when we get to the club, I'm ready to immerse myself in my element.
I don't recognize the bouncer. He checks Feng's I.D. First, and then he murmurs something that makes the fox flash a bitter smile before he steps on inside without another word. When the bouncer checks my I.D., he's conspicuously silent.
The flash of wild pink that catches me eye once inside tells me at once that Kiko is tending bar tonight. Kiko's this total sweetie of a wolf who, despite being a bit of a nut who's always using his white fur as a blank canvas to dye parts of himself different colors, is probably the best bartender you'll ever meet--certainly the best one in this part of town.
Feng is already at the bar, tail wagging as he flashes Kiko a smile. "What are you having, gorgeous?" the wolf asks. I should probably mention that Kiko's also a total fag, but in a way that makes me wish I could be his boyfriend, too (you know, even if he didn't have a knot).
"Strongest thing you can give me that doesn't taste like ass," the fox replies, and I see that he's already beginning to scope out the digs, looking for potential targets to hit up.
Kiko clicks his tongue and winks at the fox. "Too bad," he says, blatantly grabbing his package as his smile widens. "Just got off my boyfriend become coming on shift." Kiko's boyfriend (whoever he is; I don't think I've ever met him) must be a lucky fella indeed.
I'm about to chime in with my own order, but the wolf has already begun to mix something up for Feng. I watch his tail wag as he shimmies his hips, no doubt aware that Feng and I aren't the only two boys at the bar enjoying the show. If I didn't know Kiko had to sit behind the bar all night, I'd probably content myself to just flirt with him, but there's sure to be other guys catching my eye before long.
Kiko sets down some brightly-colored monstrosity of a drink that looks like something the wolf might use to color his hair. Feng looks suspicious, but he giggles. "What's in it?" he asks.
"Just drink it--you'll like it," Kiko says, and then he turns to me. "How about you, sweet stuff?"
Feng's already started to walk off, so I stare back behind the bar and think. "That depends," I say "What would you give to a little guy who wanted to forget his morals for a while while still having a good time?"
"A proposition?" Kiko suggests, showing some fang as he clicks his tongue again.
I smile. "Tempting," I admit. "How about just in the way of beverages, though?"
"For a guy like you? Well, let's see." The wolf scratches his chin. "What color do you think I should dye my hair next?" he asks.
My eyes flick back up to the garish, electric pink that returns between Kiko's ears. "I beg your pardon?" I asked.
Kiko giggles. "What color do you think I should dye my hair next?" he repeats resting his paws against the bar.
I try to imagine the wolf's hair shifting along the spectrum of colors I've seen it in the past. It's kind of a weird question, and I'm not sure why he's even asking, but I settle on, "Um, blue? You know, like a bright sort of crayon-type blue?"
"Ooh, good choice!" the wolf says, waving a limp-wristed paw at me. "Let me cook you something up, then," he says, and once more I'm stuck watching his white tail whipping side-to-side.
Like I said, he's kind of a nut, but he's lovable.
The concoction he whips up for me isn't nearly as offensive on the eyes as whatever it was he made for Feng: it's clear, translucent, but not colorless, with a soft hint of gold or maybe amber; in this light, it's hard to tell. "I don't suppose I get to know what's in it?"
"Nope," Kiko says. "If you don't like it, though, just bring it back and I'll give you something else instead." He heads off to the other end of the bar to hit up some other customers, then. The confidence he exudes tells me that he's not expecting that I won't like it, but I stand there a minute and take a sip. It's kind of sour and tastes strongly of alcohol that I can't quite place, but it's not bad enough that I want to swap it out for something else.
Looking around, I find Feng. The second sip of my drink is better than the first, and I'm all smiles as I approach the fox and sit down. He's already blown through have of his drink already, too. "Hey, easy there. You're gonna get yourself trashed," I tell him.
"That's the idea," Feng says, and he wraps his pretty lips around his straw and sucks up a nice, long sip before slumping back with a grin on his face.
I shake my head and I tease him. "You know, hon, I hate to break it to you, but getting a boy like you to raise his tail doesn't require alcohol."
He nudges his elbow into my side and laughs. "What, you think I don't know that? Trust me, I know what I'm doing."
Of that, I have little doubt, but he's leaving himself too open to my cracks. "Oh. Are you in size queen mode tonight? Hoping to take the edge off and dull the pain?"
"Isn't that your schtick?" the fox says, winking. Which, to be fair, it is.
"Hey, you've already been fucked once today," I note. "It only makes sense that you'd keep going for bigger and better."
Feng takes another sip of his drink and then gives me a keen look. "What about you? Got your eye on anyone yet?" he asks.
"Nah," I say. If you don't count your or Kiko, I mean, I think to myself. "Haven't really had time to look. Besides, folks will still be trickling in for some time to come. No sense jumping the gun."
"There's also Kiko," Feng suggests, like he's reading my mind. Or maybe just half-reading it.
I don't think he's serious, though. "Or you," I say.
"Now, now, don't give up hope just yet," the fox says, and then he gets up. "I need to get myself another drink." With a swish of his tail, he's already slipped back into the crowd, heading for the bar. I sigh and take a sip of my mystery drink.
You know, I don't even know why I'm letting myself obsess. I did come here tonight to get laid, after all, so I shouldn't be pretending otherwise. And it's not like I don't do this all the time, anyway. I guess it's just all got to do with my particular brand of affection: I'm more comfortable getting boned by complete strangers than I am by close friends that I actually like.
To hell with all this dilly-dallying, though. Life's too short to get caught up on sexual morality. Barring that, the night's too short to get caught up on sexual morality. Feng'll find a guy, I'll find me a guy, we'll go our separate ways, having a fantastic time, and then meet up tomorrow or the next day and trade tawdry stories like we always do, and we'll love it.
The crowd isn't as big as it's going to get, and while that currently limits my choices, it also makes it easier, for the time being, to pick out any individuals who do grab my eye. My gaze starts high up, and I go from subconsciously to very consciously scoping for tall, manly canids. To my surprise, the tallest guy in sight is a leopard, but he's got some dumb look on his face and I can't quite picture myself having any fun in pleasuring him, so I move on. Wolves are plentiful, but as always, they're tending to cluster around one another.
I might not understand pack mentality, but I do understand wanting to hang around with other cute guys. And hell, if you want to be one of the guys, you gotta show them that you're part of their crowd. Or at least show them that you're willing to suck them off. Whatever works.
A group of three wolves, all looking a little bit older than me, stand near one corner, chattering away happily. I approach, then, keeping the eagerness out of my face as I pretend to let my attention wander, stepping ever closer. Once I'm within earshot, I hear one of them talking like one of the others is his boyfriend, though, and so I skirt on by without stopping. Three's company, and all.
I notice Feng puttering about, too. His steps are a little uneven, as is the wagging of his tail, and I have to guess that he's already pounded back another drink and is already feeling the effects. Now, I'm a lightweight, too, that's for sure, but if I tried to put 'em back as fast as Feng seems to be doing, I'd probably either be throwing myself at the first guy I see.
Come to think of it, maybe that's not a bad idea.
I dismiss the thought as soon as I have it, though. If I let myself get too drunk, I'm liable to drape myself all over Feng, get all sad and weepy, and then kill both of our chances to get any action tonight. Maybe I should sneak back on over to Kiko and tell him to go easy when mixing the fox's drinks tonight, actually.
First, though, I figure I'll head out on the dance floor and loosen myself up. As I'm about to step onto it, though, I feel a pair of sturdy paws slap me right on the hips. One of them slips back and squeezes my backside, and I can feel someone tall starting to loom over me a second before I feel warm breath between my ears, accompanying a low growl of "Hiya, little fella."
It's a wolf, but I can tell even in the dim light that it's not one of the three I spotted earlier. His fur is too dark. He's warm, too, and his breath smells like alcohol, but it's mixed with something sweet, which tells me that he's not some macho beer-drinker. "Hiya, yourself," I reply, craning my head way back.
That meaty paw continues to grope and massage my ass. "You look a little lost," the wolf says, both of his paws then running up along my sides. "Looking for something?"
In that moment, I am now actively an object of desire. The urge to hem and haw is gone, now, and all I want is to be a prize of nightclub conquest. To the victor go the spoils.
"I might be," I say, and I try to turn around so that I can face him, but he holds me in place. Keeping myself bent backwards as I am makes me dizzy, and that makes me giggle.
"Can I help you find it?" the wolf asks, and his claws slip up underneath the bottom of my skimpy croptop, tugging it up a couple of inches.
I press my rump up against his thighs and give a slow, grinding push backwards, and the wolf's fingers tense and hold me more firmly. "Tell you what," I say. "Let me just poke around a little bit more, and if I still need some help, I'll be sure to let you know."
Just the act of playing hard to get has got me in the mood to flirt some more, but if I'm going to play, I'm going to play by my own rules. I wrest myself free of his grabby paws, and then spin around on my heels and swing my arms behind my back. The wolf's got the most adorable, goofy, confused look on his face. It's mean to play with his mind and his hormones, but I get off on it. I don't want him to just have me; I want him to earn me.
He doesn't follow as I edge myself around the dance floor. Once I get to the far side, out of view of the bar, I step on and let me feet take over. It usually takes me a few minutes to get into the swing of things, but most of that is probably just me being self-conscious, and so if I try not to think about it, I settle into the rhythm faster.
The dance floor is a moving mass of twisting legs, swishing tails, and hot passionate murmuring. Almost anyone can look good while they're dancing: even fellows who are more towards the heavy-set end of the spectrum can achieve a fluidity through dancing that's very sensual, and that amounts to a lot of eye candy when you're standing in the middle of it all. At a club like this, though, you're never going to be just standing on the dance floor--you're moving, or you're getting edged out of the way by the people who want to move.
Speaking of which, I catch sight of Feng, and I almost miss him because most of his body is obscured by the coyote and the otter that are grinding up against his back and front. They're both taller than him, and so he's got his head canted back at an angle that makes his throat look nice and vulnerable--the perfect target for a predator who happens to have a taste for fox. Feng's no idle prey, though: his paws busy themselves with the otter's package (just working over the fabric, of course), and his ass is firmly planted back in the coyote's lap.
The fox catches my eye, and in the moment-long glance, I can see that he's having a whole lot of fun, but that neither of these guys are actually getting into his pants tonight.
It's at that instant that I feel someone's paw reaching on into my pants, right down the front, uninvited. I start to squeak in protest, but I look up and see this gorgeous gray fox who looks like he could be a movie star if he just stepped in front of the right camera. He's got on some leathers that are light years more conservative than Feng's, along with a tight top made up of alternating patches of vinyl and fishnet. It's his paw that's in my pants, of course, and given that, I'm suddenly a lot less inclined to complain.
"Let's see what we have here," the fox says, leaning close to me so that he can whisper into my ear and also pull my body in closer to his, only partly obscuring what he's doing--anybody with a keen eye would be able to see. His fingers press down further, and I can feel the tight denim of my shorts strain as he manages to get deep enough to cup my balls in his paw. "Oh, very nice, little guy."
I don't want to come across as overeager for this guy who just trotted on up to me and invaded my privacy, but I can't help but get a little hard from what he's doing, and so when the tip of my cock starts to rub and press against his wrist, he smiles. He starts to slide his paw out, but he does so very slowly, giving his fingers time to play along my shaft, leaving me standing at damn near full mast by the time he finished extruding himself. The whole time, I haven't said a word, and that makes me feel kind of cheap, but going by the look on the fox's face, I think he might like that.
"You're very nimble," I say, because I start to hate the silence between us. "I didn't think there was enough room down there to fit a whole paw."
"I'm sure you've got enough room to fit a lot of things," the fox replies, and I'd roll my eyes except I have to close them when he presses his snout into my ear and licks, milking a sad, embarrassing moan from me. He strikes me as the kind of guy who operates under the assumption that the more he treats me like a slut, the more I'll act like a slut, and if he plays his cards right, that's exactly what he's going to get.
I slap my own paw up between his thighs and squeeze. His sheath feels like it's on the full side--nothing special, but for a pretty-boy fox like him, he could be sporting smaller and still be a decent size. I smile and I squeeze again before taking my paw back. "I can think of a few places I might be able to fit that," I tell him, and his eyes light up and his fangs twinkle in the garish club lighting.
"Can I get you a drink?" he asks, sticking a claw into my exposed navel. I squirm, but I try to channel the motion into my dancing, so that I don't come across as a total sissy.
"But I'm not thirsty," I tease, and I start moving my feet faster so that I catch him off guard and dance around his side to his back. He catches an arm over my shoulder, and I spin around and hop back up against him. "Why don't you help me work up a little thirst, then, hm?"
His grin tells me that he's taking the bait, and he slaps his other paw on my other shoulder and twirls me around. I giggle, complying, and I lean up to bump my nose at his chin before slipping back half a step, putting some more room between us so that I have room to work my arms as I begin dancing harder. The music is in my head, now, helping to measure my movements, almost controlling my steps. It's automatic, for the most part, allowing me to put my conscious concentration on the handsome gray fox.
"My name's A.J.," I tell him. I catch him by the paw and rub a pair of fingertips against his wrist before letting go.
"I'm Theo," he says, maintaining our playful distance for now. I'm a bit surprised that he hasn't already tried groping and molesting me again, but maybe he's already figured I'm a sure thing and now he's just enjoying himself. I'm enjoying myself, too, so I don't rush him.
The song comes to an end, and it's an abrupt, jarring transition into the next (and I stop to wonder who they've got spinning tonight). The beat's pretty similar to the previous song, though, so I don't need to change up my moves too much. Theo's tail gets into the action some more, and not for the first time in my life, I succumb to jealousy over those species who have such long, luxurious tails. Whenever I hear Feng talk about how some guy will yank his tail up and hold it there as he fucks him, I think to myself, "God, what I wouldn't give to know what that feels like."
I mean, swishy vulpine tails look great when dancing, too--don't get me wrong.
"What does 'A.J.' stand for?" Theo asks, raising his voice some above the music.
One of my claws catches on the fishnet on the fox's sleeve. "Oh, see, I can't tell you that," I say, slipping in a wink as I start dancing a little closer to him. "I need to know someone better before I let them know things like that."
"Do you want to let me get to know you better?" Theo asks, bringing his face closer to mind.
In response, I grab him by the hips, lift myself up, and plant a kiss right on his muzzle. He's caught off guard, but his recovery is admirable, and just when I think he's about to pull back, I find my tongue in his mouth and we're both moaning.
My weight drops back onto my feet, and I'm short of breath as I look back up at him. Holy shit, this fox is a hottie. "So, how about that drink, now?" I ask.
Theo looks pleased. "You got it," he says, and he pats me on the hip before turning around. He's got some extra bounce in his step, part of which I attribute to the music, and part of which I attribute to me. I watch his tail as he threads his way through the cluster of dancers, and then he's gone.
Almost as soon as I lose sight of Theo, I'm grabbed--hard--by the shoulders and spun around. It's the dark wolf from earlier. I almost fall over, but he's got his paws on my good and tight, ensuring that I stay up. "Having fun out here, little fella?" he asks.
I'm flustered, and it shows. "Sure am," I reply, pretending that I can't hear the gruffness in his voice.
"It's not nice to tease, you know," he says, edging himself in closer to me. I feel almost too short next to him, but he's not trying to be imposing--he's just trying to get close so that I have no choice but to give him my attention.
So, I give it to him. "You're right; it's not." I make the apology sound halfhearted at best, and almost like I'm not even paying attention, I let my paw find the bulge in the front of his pants. And hot damn, is there a nice bulge there! I hadn't noticed it, earlier, but this guy is hung like... well, like I don't know what. He puts the already-impressive Raoul to shame, I can say that much.
Still, I don't want to tip my hand (so to speak), so I act like nothing's out of the ordinary, and the way I rub and stroke him through his pants is almost too casual. His legs tremble, and I can feel that the big wolf wants to lean forward and grind into my palm, but that'd be breaking the rules of his game, it seems.
It's nice to have power over someone who could probably break you in half.
The sound of someone clearing their throat behind me makes me turn my head, and what do I see but Theo, tapping his foot and holding out a drink. "Do you still want this?" The gray fox's voice is dry and flat, and it's a miracle that I don't shrink back into myself in shame.
Instead, I just take my paw (still firmly pressed into the wolf's package, right where Theo can see it) and I bring it up and take hold of the glass. "Thank you," I say with a smile, turning myself around so that now my full attention is on him.
Theo's attention isn't on me, though; it's past me, over my shoulder, behind me. "Did you want to introduce me to your friend, here?" the fox asks.
"Oh, sure," I say, turning to the side so that I can look at both of them. "Theo, this is... um, some wolf." Said wolf's ears twitch. "Wolf, this is Theo."
Both of the canids are glaring at me--well, not quite glaring, but it's close. Neither of them looks amused, in any case. "And actually, I think I'm going to sit this one out," I say, backing away from the dance floor, pointing to the glass in my paw. "It's kind of hard to dance and drink at the same time."
For a second, the look in Theo's eyes suggests that he's going to follow me, but I sit down in a booth and wait for a minute or so and the fox doesn't show himself. I sigh and take a sip of my drink; it looks like Kiko's mixed up the same special delivery as earlier. I drink it all in about four sips, and then I stand up, go back to the bar, and order myself another.
I kill that next drink on my way to the door, and I step outside for some fresh air. The air's not all that fresh, though, and just so I don't feel left out, I bum a smoke off of this fag-hag tigress who tells me she likes my outfit. I lean against the wall and try not to eavesdrop on people, and it's not that hard because they don't have much interesting to say.
"Third time's a charm," I say to myself, and I flick the cigarette butt into the ashtray before sauntering back inside. I walk past the bar and make a beeline for the dance floor again. I came here to enjoy myself, and I'm going to fucking enjoy myself. If people don't want to play by their own rules, then they should stay out of the game.
I've totally lost my sense of rhythm, but it comes back to me, bit by bit. Closing my eyes for a few seconds, I try to channel Feng, to move and to act like he would. That's not so hard to do, either: all it really involves is tight, controlled movements within the personal space of others, and if you shake your ass close enough to someone, either they back off or they bring themselves closer. It's a very straightforward dynamic when you boil it down.
Half the time, I'm not even looking at whose paws are on me, although if I catch their eye I'll give a flirty wink or a smile and then I'll shuffle along. If anyone's that intent on me, specifically, they'll make a point to follow; if they're just groping for groping's sake, they'll stay where they are and feel up the next boy who swings along.
At one point, I bump into Feng, and we share knowing smiles with one another.
I spot the wolf sitting in a both near the dance floor, but he doesn't look up and see me. For a big lug, he's actually pretty handsome, and I can notice it more now that he's not in the midst of any overblown dominant posturing. A tiny twinge of guilt hits me. There's no sign of Theo.
Again, life's too short to get caught up on sexual morality. I slip away from the dance floor and I sit down in the booth opposite the wolf, and I'm all smiles, eyes bright and ears alert. He looks up at me with a mixture of disbelief and annoyance, but I ignore it. "So, I never got your name, earlier," I say.
I see the wolf's nose scrunch up like he's about to let out a snort, but he just says, "It's Mitchell."
"Hi, Mitchell. I'm A.J.," I say, extending my paw across the table.
Mitchell shows some more disbelief, but instead of also looking annoyed, I daresay he looks intrigued. "Hi," he replies, and a low rumble in his voice belies the fact that he's happy I came back.
"Mitchell," I say, still holding onto his paw as I stand up, "would you like to dance for a bit?"
The wolf's got a big grin on his muzzle, now, and it's probably the most honest look I've seen on anyone's face all night. "Yeah, sure, I'll bite," he says, and then he's on his feet.
I don't want to play headgames, but I'm still a naughty little tease at heart, and so while we're up there on the dance floor together, I want to keep him guessing. Oh, there can't be any doubt in his mind that I'm interested, and from the way that my eyes keep checking him out between his legs, he's probably got more than enough evidence that I am. So, I mix it up, and I'll flutter around, sometimes even going so far as to turn away and dance with someone else for a little bit, but I always manage to pop back up and grab Mitchell's attention again before long.
"So," the wolf says, grabbing me by the hips to keep me in place once I come within range again. "It looks to me like you've done a pretty thorough job looking. Did you find what you were looking for, yet, or did you still need some help in finding it?"
I smile and I reach up to scratch underneath his chin. "Oh, I'm sure it won't be too much longer," I say. "It's real sweet of you to offer."
"I'd hate to see a cute number like you leave here empty-handed, that's all," the wolf says, and his claws dig into my rump to punctuate his words.
I test my weight against his hold on me. "I'd hate to see you leave here empty-handed, too," I tell him. My eyes slip further past him, then, and I spot Feng slumped back into a booth, looking pretty wiped. I figure I should touch base with him, all things considered, and I'm also worried about how trashed he might've gotten. "Can you pardon me a moment?" I ask Mitchell. "I've just got to check up on my friend for a sec."
Mitchell raises an eyebrow. "'Friend?'" he says, nearly growling.
"Friend," I repeat. "He drove me here; I just need to give him the head's up in case he doesn't need to drive me back." That response gets me a lovely smile from the wolf, and without another word, I spin around on my heels, cut off of the dance floor, and make my way over to where Feng's sitting.
I flop down next to the fox. "Man, I go from not having any real options to having too many to choose from!" I'm pretty winded from the dancing, I realize as I sit down, and it feels good to rest and let my brain catch up to me.
Feng, despite being dazed and flustered at my sudden appearance, is still Feng, and he immediately begins scanning the dance floor. Right away, he spots Mitchell, and gives an indicating nod. "I bet he's one of them," he says.
"Look how big his fuckin' sheath is! You can see the entire outline through his shorts! And I bet he's not even hard in there, either!" Something about pointing out the object of my would-be conquest gets me excited, and I'm probably eager to a fault.
Feng's eyes take a few seconds to refocus on me. He holds up a paw and makes a wagging, circular gesture with his fingers. "So, then, like... just walk up to him," he says. Oh, he's totally plastered right now, slurring his words as his head wobbles side to side. "Slap both of your paws on that sheath there and tell the nice, studly doggy that you're... like... the guardian angel of cocksucking or something."
Poor little Feng. He's usually better than this. I roll my eyes, just to tease him in his current state, and I say, "Er, yeah, don't worry. I've got it covered." I lean in over the table, then, getting closer so that the fox has a better chance of actually hearing and responding. "So, what about you? Who're your eyes on, eh?"
Even though the fox's eyes are glazed over with drunkenness, a familiar glimmer of vulpine mischief shines through, followed by a big, dumb grin forming on his muzzle. "See the cougar and the snow leopard standing next to the dance floor over there?" He motions to them with a nod.
"Uh-huh. Which one?"
"'One?'" Feng asks, and he manages, even in his impaired state, to show a legitimately sexy smile (one that kind of turns me on).
It takes me a moment before I realize that he's not just being playful with me. "Oh, you are not serious," I say, shaking my head.
Feng started to extricate himself from the booth before the words are even out of my mouth, though. He staggers, having some difficulty, but he's still all smiles. "Watch and learn, young apprentice." Then he marches right for the pair of cats. I expect him to stumble or waver as he walks, but the alcohol isn't as strong as the fox's determination, I guess. That's kind of hot, too.
Neither of the felines seems to notice the little fox as he just pads right on up to them, and instead of joining in the conversation, he just forces himself in between the two of them, ass on display for the cougar as he starts playing with the snow leopard's chest. I can't hear a word from this distance over all the music and other voices, but I can imagine well enough what must be going on from the surprised looks on the cats' faces contrasted against the happy-go-lucky one on the fox's own.
I half-expect Feng to get pushed out of the way so that the cats can continue macking on one another in peace, but before too long, the three of them are sandwiched even closer together, and paws start wandering on all fronts. It's entrancing to watch, and I start getting hard again, which makes it all the more startling when a shape cuts in through my peripheral vision and drops into the booth where Feng had just been sitting.
"Enjoying the show?" It's Theo. He's got a new drink, another treat from Kiko that glows under the lights, some color that probably shouldn't exist.
"It's not a bad view," I say, taking my attention off of the red fox and putting it back on the gray one. "There are lots of nice things to look at here, though."
Theo takes a sip from his glass but he doesn't take his eyes off me. "Oh, I agree," he says, but it's not flirtatious and it's not friendly. "The one good thing about this place is that everyone's bound to find at least one thing they like."
It's a harsh thing to say, to be sure, but if Theo wasn't still holding out hope, he wouldn't have bothered to sit down and talk to me again. "I think there's a lot to like," I reply. "The drinks are pretty good, for one."
"True," the fox agrees. "In that case, I suppose my night can't be a total loss," he adds, holding up his drink for emphasis before taking another sip.
For a moment, I consider smacking the fox's drink out of his paw and chewing him out for trying to give me a guilt trip over not just up and agreeing to let him fuck me like the slut he wants me to be. Then I stop, realizing that I've effectively already told Mitchell that I'm going to let him take me home and fuck me like the slut that I know I am. To make things worse, now I'm angry at myself because I actually care about the fact that I'm letting Theo down, even though he's just some random pretty-boy who stuck his paw down my pants and bought me a drink.
"I'm sorry if I led you on," I say, and I try to take his paw in mine, but he pulls it away. "I didn't mean... didn't mean to..."
"Didn't mean to what?" Theo asks, setting his glass down. "Didn't mean to start grabbing for someone else's cock after I've got my back turned for a whole thirty seconds?"
His words are like a slap, and I'd just as soon ditch both him and Mitchell if it meant just getting the hell out of there. I turn around and look for Feng, but he's gone, along with the felines he was flirting with. Shit, I'd even offer to take his keys and drive him home even though I'm scared as shit of driving through the city at night, but he's gone to who-knows-where.
"Look," I say to Theo, and I can't help but think that I'm pleading for something that I can't even say. "I'm really attracted to you, and I think you're a pretty cool guy, but--"
"Can we save the excuses?" Theo interrupts.
I bite my tongue, stare down at the table for a few seconds, and then I look back up. "Do you have a car?" I ask.
"What?"
"A car," I repeat. "Did you drive here?"
The fox looks baffled. "Why?" he asks.
"Because I just want to go home," I say.
Theo stares at me for what feels like a minute, and then he shakes his head and sighs. "I don't know what it is about you, A.J.," he says. "But no, sorry; I took the subway in."
"It's okay," I say. "I need to go find my friend and get going, then, I think." I get up and I pretty much jog my way back onto the dance floor so that Theo doesn't even have the chance to call after me. I'm already pretty sure that I'm not going to find Feng, for starters, and that means that I'm probably going to find Mitchell.
He's a big wolf, and so he's not hard to find. Heck, he's even still dancing a bit, looking like he's enjoying himself. I'm guessing he didn't see what just happened, and that's good, because I'm not going to tell him. I don't want to think about what just happened. I want to think with my dick, because it's a lot easier.
I come at him from the side, and he doesn't see me until I grab him by the wrist with both paws.
"Hey," I say. "I'm ready to go, now."
The wolf looks back at me, and for a moment, I think he's going to come back at me with some nasty comment or some other surprise, but a smile forms on his face and I notice his tail wag. "You sure?" he asks. I guess I've sort of given him cause to be suspicious, after all.
"Yeah, I'm sure," I say, and I start to head for the door. Then it occurs to me that I never did actually tell Feng I was planning on heading out. Since the fox is nowhere to be seen, though, I tell Mitchell to hang on for just one more second and I walk back over to the bar.
"One more for the road, sweet stuff?" Kiko asks me.
I shake my head. "Nah, I'm good, I think," I say. "Could you just tell me friend--you know, the little red fox--that I left a little early and that I won't need a ride home?"
Kiko smiles a proud little smile. "Oh, you naughty little thing, you!" he says, and I don't think it would be untoward of him to reach out and ruffle my hair like I'm some little kid, but he keeps his paws to himself. "I do so love being the bearer of good news."
My chuckle is a bit forced. I'm about to turn away and go, but I hesitate, and I can see in Kiko's eyes that he sees me hesitate. Before he can ask, I lean over the bar, look both ways real quick, and then I say, "Hey, do you know Theo?"
"Gray fox?" Kiko asks, surprise showing in his eyes. "What about him?"
It's like I can feel Mitchell's eyes on the back of my head, boring their way through. I know there's no way he can possibly hear what I'm saying, but that doesn't keep me from staying nervous. "Nothing," I say to Kiko. "Never mind." And with that, I spin around and I'm gone.
Mitchell's car surprises me with how nice it is: a two-door dealie that's sporty yet sensible. I don't know what--if anything--I was expecting him to drive, but I feel better when I sit down and don't find the car littered with empty coffee cups and fast food bags.
Once we're underway, I get hard again. I can't help it. Being driven off to have sex just does that to a guy. Now that I'm committed to my course of action (and now that I'm out of the frying pan), I don't feel as nervous and guilty. Even so, I look down during the car ride, making a point to not pay attention to what flashes by outside the windows; I don't think I want to know where Mitchell lives, exactly. This isn't about being best friends forever.
His apartment is nice, too--not super-nice, not as nice as his car, but nice. From the size of it, I assume he lives alone. A big wolf like him wouldn't have enough extra room for a boyfriend in such cramped quarters. Not that his having a boyfriend would really affect things much: I'd still let him fuck me all the same.
"Can I get you a drink or something?" Mitchell asks, wandering into his kitchen (if you can even call it that; it's more than a kitchenette but not by much).
"Just a glass of water, I guess," I say, fidgeting my paws behind my back as I pace back and forth next to the living room sofa. I'm still hard. Part of me imagines that he's going to come striding forth from that kitchen, walk right up to me, grab me, pick me up, throw me onto the sofa, rip my shorts off, and fuck me hard right then and there.
He strides forth from the kitchen, but he's got a glass of water in one paw and a can of beer in the other. After I take the water, he uses his now-free paw to crack the beer open and then he sits down on the couch. He doesn't pat the seat next to him, but his manner suggests that the invitation is there all the same, and so I take it, my own paw resting on his thigh.
I take one tiny sip of water and then set the glass down on the coffee table. His leg is warm. My dick is pressing itself up in the front of my shorts, and it's visible, yeah, but still not as visible as the outline of his own huge sheath. I still don't think he's hard in there, either.
Fuck it. I scoot closer up against his side and slip my paw over from his thigh to that big bulge I've been eyeing. He lets out a throaty, growly sound, but says nothing and does nothing, and so I assume I've got free reign. There's a lot more heat coming in through the fabric than there was when my paw was just on his leg.
Mitchell shifts on the couch, slumping into a lazier position and spreading his legs further apart. My slim fingers do their best to grab at as much of that big package as they can, and the more I strive, the more difficult it gets, because he starts growing in there. I can feel how damp my own underpants are, and I'm amazed that I'm not drooling out of my mouth the way I am further down.
"Come on," the wolf says, setting down his half-finished beer and dragging me to my feet with him as he stands up. "Let's take this someplace where we have some more room." I hold his paw tight and he drags me into his bedroom with an urgency one would expect from someone whose pants are itching to be taken off.
Once we're in the bedroom, then, I oblige him, paws going to his belt and making short work of it before moving right on to his fly. Once I get those sturdy shorts open, his sheath falls forward, nice and heavy, cock already pressing halfway out and showing more by the moment now that it's free. The wolf lets out a groan of true appreciation, and he smacks a paw down between my ears and gives a firm, affectionate rub. "Nice rabbit," he says. Rabbit, not bunny. Point for him.
"Mmm. Not as nice as this," I say, getting a solid, underhand grip on his sheath, pushing in downward as the drizzly tip of his cock brushes a little tail over my wrist and partway up my forearm. The scent of lupine masculinity if overpowering, and it stings my nostrils and nearly drives me crazy with desire. I want to just grab his dick hard, squeeze it good and tight, and pump it for all it's worth, but I restrain myself, opting instead to go with a lighter, deliberately teasing touch with just my fingertips and my claws. His growl is masked by a smile. He likes it.
The paw that had been on my head slides down to cup my cheek, and his other paw cups my rump. He gives it a soft squeeze at first, and then a harder one, making me squeak. I can tell he likes that, too; I reciprocate by gently--very, very gently--squeezing his balls, a playful yet subtle message that, yes, I'm a slut and I'm a little bitch but I'm not entirely powerless. Another pleasant growl escapes his throat. God, he's hot.
My weight shifts off of my heels as the wolf tugs me up by my backside and pulls me in closer to him. It's a bit of a trick to keep my fingers playing along his shaft without stopping to regain my balance, but I find a decent middle ground. His fingers play along the waistband of my shorts in the back for a few moments before they slip down and tease past the curve of my rump. I press my head against his chest and shoulder, exhaling a tense sigh as his paw explores further, urging my own to do the same.
I look down, finally, and now that Mitchell's fully hard, I can see how big his dick really is, and my god, he could probably win competitions with that thing. It's almost long enough that I could wrap both my hands around it and still have the tip showing--or at least it looks that long from this angle. I could be wrong about that, but with the way I'm being held to his front, it's too awkward for me to test my theory. That doesn't matter, though, because it doesn't change the fact that he's fucking huge.
With movements far rougher than he's been using up until now, Mitchell brings his paws to my hips and shoves my shorts down. I wince, because I'm waiting for the button to snap, but I suck in my gut and the shorts go down past my hips without breaking. My own hard cock springs up and pokes the wolf in the side of the leg, but he ignores it, going instead for my now-exposed ass with both paws. He kneads and rubs and squeezes and he's actually really good at it. Then, just when I start getting complacent, he picks me up by my butt, turns around, and deposits me on the edge of the bed.
I'm sitting, now, and he's almost tall enough that I can lean over and get his dick in my mouth that way, but being the tall guy that he is, his bed is up a little too high. Instead, I roll onto my side, my feet up on his pillows, and grab hold of one of his thighs as I lean in and start to lick his shaft as he stands there. He grabs hold of one of my ears, and I prepare myself for the possibility that he might yank on it, but he doesn't, and that's all well and good because that means my stride isn't broken as I go about slathering his hot and smooth shaft with spittle.
I don't try to get my mouth around him right away; I want to get him nice and wet, first, and there's no way I can fit his whole length in my stubby snout, anyway. Even my eagerness knows its bounds, and besides, the wolf's not complaining about the treatment he's getting. I put my lips into it, too, kissing and rubbing with them, trying to be nice and thorough as I feel my way around.
The wolf takes a few fingers and grabs his own shaft down near the base and starts to move it around, rubbing it around on my face, and so I playfully try to chase it down, getting saliva and pre strewn through my fur and my whiskers. I let him tease me for a little bit, but then I pull on his leg, stunning him for just a second--long enough to wrap my lips around the tip of his cock and give it a nice, hard suck. I feel his knees wobble, and he cradles my head in both paws, fingers tense against my skull as he lets out a groan.
I'm about to start taking him deeper when those paws of his pull my head back. "Not tonight," he says, chuckling, and then turns toward his nightstand. I scoot back into a more comfortable position on the bed and I watch as he pulls out a nice, big bottle of lube (he must go through a lot of the stuff with a dick as big as his). He squirts a hefty dollop of the stuff into his palm and starts smearing it all up and down his shaft, putting on a quick little show for me. As he goes to apply some more, I reach out and touch that wet, shiny spike of flesh with some of my own fingers, and I use the tiny bit of residue I get to tweak my own little tip, just because it feels good.
Mitchell goes through with a third squirt of lube, leaving his cock dripping onto the bedspread. He's obviously no stranger to fucking little guys like me, and he knows that too much lube is still only almost enough when it comes to being inconveniently hung. I shimmy my legs the rest of the way out of my shorts and then I get onto all fours, presenting my ass to him. I can hear his breathing deepen as he admires the view, and then I feel his paws on my hips.
"Nah, not like that," he says, and using that manly strength of his, he flips me right onto my back before he catches my ankles and pulls me closer to the edge of the bed. My giggles come out as assorted squeaks and whines of giddy anticipation, and my own cock dribbles down onto my belly as he starts to tease a single finger down between my balls and tail. There's a lot of lube still coating the fur, and he uses it to his advantage, forcing that thick digit into me while his thumb presses down hard right underneath my scrotum. He tugs and wiggles that finger, and it's like he's playing me like some kind of squeaky, squirmy instrument.
I must've been lulled into too much of a sense of comfort, because I don't even register that he's pulled his paw back from between my legs until I feel the tip of his member, much wider than his finger, pushing at my tight and slick hole. I'm about to cry out, but then he pushes himself into me--probably just an inch or so--and my throat clenches shut, silencing me. A familiar, hot tingle travels up along my spine, starting from the tail, and by that point, I've lost the urge to whimper with pain and so instead I just whimper with needfulness. The wolf responds by giving another slow shove with his hips, stretching me further, forcing me to take him deeper.
All of my waffling and anxiety and insecurity about tonight are gone, now. This is the moment, and I'm in it, and I want it and I need it and now I have it.
Another slow press and I close my eyes, whining out through my nose. He must be about halfway into me, now, but I'm almost afraid to look. I start to worry about just how much restraint he's going to have, but then I feel him start to pull back out. That makes me open my eyes again, but before my thoughts fully coalesce, he thrusts back forward, just as deep as he was before. He starts to fuck me, then, just like that, using only the front half of that monster cock of his, and it feels so nice that I know it's just obscene.
The wolf is still wearing his shirt, too. Actually, so am I, I realize. I like that.
My claws and fingers curl into the mattress and I get whatever leverage I can, because even though his thrusts don't feel like they're getting any deeper, he's putting more of his weight into them, and that changes things. Yeah, I'm slick and loose, now, but only to an extent, and the way he's driving into me, I can't stay completely still even if it weren't for all the struggling and squirming. Every time he prods forward under my tail, I clench around him, and my own dick tightens and twitches. I suddenly get the idea that I want him deeper, but I don't want to ask; I want him to just know that's what I want.
Maybe it's my eyes or my smile or just a coincidence, but he starts to go deeper, then. I know he's still not using the entirety of his length, but that's fine with me--as it is now, it's sort of like getting dicked by Raoul, only things are a little thicker, and Mitchell isn't whispering fake little nothings into my ear. He's just giving it to me, and I'm just taking it, and that's all it needs to be.
Thrust, wince, breathe, focus. Thrust, wince, breathe, focus. It's such a simple rhythm, and my whole body is part of it, and I watch him, and he thrusts again, and he thrusts again, and he thrusts again, and then I cry out, sounding like a girl, and I start to spray my own belly and chest and my croptop as climax comes without him even needing to touch me. The wolf lets out a breath of excitement as he watches me in my ecstatic, simpering throes, and his smile looks so beautiful in that instant before my pulse slows again.
And then I feel dirty.
I'm on my back, getting fucked by some wolf that I don't plan on ever seeing again, and yeah, he's really into it, and he's probably happy for me now, but at this same time tomorrow night, he's not going to be thinking about what's happening right now, and hell, for all I know, he could be fucking some other rabbit or some fox or maybe even some girl and little A.J. doesn't even warrant a notch on the bedpost.
The deep thrusting comes to an abrupt halt, and Mitchell leans forward. "You okay?" he asks.
"Hunh?"
The wolf's got a lot of concern on his face. "Does that hurt? Your face, like, kept doing this... thing."
"Huh?" I shake my head a few times. "No, no, feels fine."
But Mitchell pulls out and reaches down between my legs with his paw. He dabs his fingers under my tail a few times, then pulls them back and looks at them. He looks dissatisfied--I guess maybe he was looking for blood?--and then he shakes his head. "No, you don't sound fine," he says.
Great. My drop in enthusiasm is leaving me with a horny and unfulfilled wolf. I scramble for ideas on how to salvage the situation. "Here," I say, crawling back up onto all fours. "Maybe let's try it this way."
Mitchell shakes his head again. "You don't seem to want to do this," he says.
"Why wouldn't I, silly?" I say, forcing a chuckle and trying to wiggle my rump invitingly. "Come on, don't be shy."
"Is something wrong?" he asks, and his tone doesn't brook any argument. He's not falling for my bullshit, and I don't know how he knows, but he does.
I sigh and turn back over, sitting up on his bed, half-naked, having just blown my load all over myself. "I'm just tired," I murmur. "I'm sorry." I wish he'd just get back to fucking me--not because I want him to fuck me, but just because it'd be better than the awkward silence.
"You're not supposed to be here, are you?" Mitchell says. I can't read the look on his face. He sounds upset, but it doesn't sound like he's upset with me, and there's something in his eyes. Sympathy? No, not quite.
"I don't know what you mean," I reply, and I mean it.
Mitchell reaches down and grabs his shorts off the floor and then stands up to put them on. "I think you do," he says. He's giving me the benefit of the doubt for some reason. It's like he wants me to know what he means without having to insult me or ask me by saying it.
I understand the look in his eyes, then: he thinks I'm here cheating on someone. My jaw drops in shock at the suggestion, but then I collect myself, because I see my way out. "Yeah," I 'admit,' hanging my head. "I'm sorry. But, I mean, we can still... you know..."
"That's okay," the wolf says. I can see by the outline in his shorts that his erection's been effectively killed, too. He sighs, paces around his room, and then turns to me with a shrug. "You can crash on the couch, if you want, I guess."
I stand up and fetch my own shorts. I slip back into them and then look back down at my sticky, messed-up fur. Mitchell grabs an old shirt off of his floor and hands it to me (I flinch, thinking he's going to toss it). I mop myself up and then look down the hallway. "I'll be all right," I say. "I can just take a cab home. It's not too far."
Mitchell opens his mouth, then closes it again without saying anything. I start to head for the door. "Hey," he calls after me, and I almost don't turn around, but I already feel like a sleazebag already and I don't know if I could stand feeling worse. "If there's something that you need to talk to someone about, I'm willing to listen."
I think I liked him better when he was just a wolf with a big sheath and not a wolf with a brain and feelings.
"Yeah," I sigh. "Maybe. I might catch you around, I guess," I say, and then I turn to leave and Mitchell doesn't follow.
Flagging down a cab is easier than I thought, since Mitchell's place is still in an urban enough area and the night is, for a weekend, still on the young side for a city like this. Before I'm even halfway home, I already know that the fare is going to be a real bitch, but I can't bring myself to feel bitter about it.
After all, I guess it's pretty much what I deserve.