Less Than Three
AUTHOR'S NOTE: IF YOU DON'T LIKE THE KEYWORDS, YOU DON'T HAVE TO READ IT.
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Cheating never felt so good!
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Less Than Three
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Jesus, Veila, would you quit touching me and just get off the fucking elevator?
"Hold still, Luke, your tie is all crooked. You're supposed to be the manager, not the mail boy." She reaches up to straighten the bow tie I took twenty minutes to get to looking somewhat decent. It's not out of concern for me, though. It's how she'll look in front of everyone else's wife at this stupid party I'm throwing in the office because Lois Drakey in HR told me it would be a good idea for morale.
It's a Sunday night, and we all have to be here Monday morning at nine. Who would want to?
"I'm sure it's fine, honey," I say in a tone she knows is patronizing but I'm trying to cover it up just the same. She knows better than to let her ears lower, too; she gave up on that a long time ago.
"All right, it's your tie," she says, turning back to face the door as I hear the chime. One last glance in the mirrored surface--I see a tired-looking malamute staring back at me, so I stick my tongue out at him--and the elevator opens onto my domain.
It's all a bunch of bullshit pomp and everyone here knows it, but they go through the motions anyway because they're all scared of me. Lois is the first one to greet me and Veila, exchanging pleasantries so saccharine it makes me want to rip open her blouse and vomit into those voluptuous breasts of hers.
Rita, the otter from the mail room, asks me how my weekend was.
"Fine," I say, and even that is a complete lie. I could be at home right now enjoying a brandy. Or sanding out that new fender for my '68 Camaro project car. Or masturbating in the shower. Rita nods and smiles and turns away before I can say anything else, or even return the question. I guess she figured she'd done enough not to get fired. She's good enough at her job so that I don't have to, anyway. Too damn expensive to train a new person in the mail room.
I turn away from Rita's back and my wife has gone missing. A quick scan of the office, now decked out in about a hundred dollars' worth of streamers and balloons, shows her over by the Accounting side, chatting up Tom and Kathy Jimenez. Tom's a good golf buddy of mine, Kathy is head of Receivables. She's also on Facebook, which I hear is a horrendous time-suck for anyone who actually has a life. Well, Veila doesn't have to work, so she's got to do something all day long. No kids, no pets. Menopause. Fun, fun.
"Want a drink, boss?" I smell the skunk, and know it's Shel without even turning around. Not because he's a skunk, but because he always wears the same cologne, an expensive blend that combines his own musk with a sweeter note, making it unique and instantly recognizable. When I see him, he's got an easy smile that relieves me somewhat.
"Does it look that obvious?" I ask, loosening the damned bow tie.
"If it was any normal work day, I'd swear you were looking forward to a root canal after leaving the office." Shel walks around two tables loaded with cake and smokies and crudités that will still be there and I'll have to take home and probably throw away. Lois prepared two gigantic plastic bowls of punch--one red, one purple--with blocks of ice drifting around them, watering down the contents.
"Wish I'd brought my flask," I say.
"You know that's against company policy," Shel replies with a wink, and his elevated mood helps lift the clouds from my own. At least he understands how much this sucks. "Tell me, again, how you got drafted into throwing this little shindig?"
I gesture toward Lois, who has shifted from greeting to making sure everyone eats as much unhealthy food as they can handle. She drops a few mini taquitos on the paper plate of Harold Monroe, the Mexican hairless who grew up in Detroit, and I have to grin at both the irony and the puzzled look on the cat's face. Lois tries, really she does.
"There goes your diversity training, Luke," Shel says, laughing.
"I'll talk to her later." I pour a cup of the red stuff for Shel, and another for myself. It's not bad, a little tart, but not bad. Could use some vodka, though.
The skunk watches the room alongside of me. "So, I don't know much beyond the fact that we're supposed to be here, but now what? You have some informative slide show planned, some piece of political correctness that Corporate thinks it's necessary to shove down our throats?"
"Not to my knowledge," I shrug. "Something about improving morale, but I'm pretty sure dragging everybody downtown for a Sunday night of uncompensated posturing will do the exact opposite for office morale. I might as well put one of those asinine 'Hang In There' posters on the wall."
"Did you tell Lois how you feel?"
"More or less. She blew it off. Said she was excited to come to the party, and she thought her feelings spoke for the rest." I scan the crowd. It looks like a middle-school dance, and perhaps just as awkward. I lean in toward my office manager and cup my paw around his stubby, curved ear. "Between you and me, I think I'll tack on a little 'party overtime' to everyone's check, from the petty cash." Petty cash, meaning about two million dollars saved up for any variety of rainy days. All in all, it shouldn't cost more than five grand.
"That's what I like about you, Luke. You know how to treat your people, even in this economy." I cringe at the overused phrase, but it's true. "I'm gonna go find Lara. You try not to fall asleep, okay?" Shel punches my shoulder and I wink at him, trying to maintain that I can still be cool well into my fifties. Try being the operative word here, since Shel is half my age. Good guy, though.
The more I look around, the more I think this wasn't the best idea. In my own defense, though, it wasn't mine to begin with. Despite the fact that Lois said my attendance would encourage "bonding and trust," the looks I see on the faces here are not ideal. My employees may look like they're having fun, but I see the glances my way. Like I'm the one responsible for them being here. Suddenly I have a deep-seated hatred for all things politically correct and publicly decent.
They may not look like it, but they all think I'm a stuck-up idiot for going through with this. And they're all still scared of me, because I hold their jobs in my paws.
The supposed informality of the evening seems to be marred by my very presence. I don't see any reason I should be here; morale should be between workers and their managers, not the executive in the office at the end of the elevator lobby who has only Corporate to answer to. It's a good thing Lois has taken it upon herself to be the matron of the party, because I'm finding it very difficult to maintain an air of interest in something I view to be mostly pointless.
A sharp, whinnying laugh rises from the far corner of the room, and a lump forms in my stomach. I can't smell him, but I know Todd Meechum's boisterous laugh anywhere. Especially since it's followed by Veila's high-pitched girly giggle, the giggle she used to use when I had my claws between her legs, trailing over her thighs right before I bombarded her clitoris with them.
Oh, great. Now my sheath is hard and I'm thinking about my cheating whore of a wife. Might need to go back to therapy.
It's not like I didn't see it coming. Veila was so wild and crazy in those early days, fucking to Blondie through a cocaine haze, riding my dick and popping my knot in and out just because that's how she loved it. She was satisfied with it, I thought, until the testicular cancer. She supported me through it, sure, but when I was in the hospital and she was lonely, Todd stepped in to help around the house. He was just an accountant, but he genuinely cared about us. Until he cared too much about Veila.
She still loves me, I'm sure of it. But they've been fucking for about eight months now, according to the private investigator I hired. That's right around the same time she "popped out of her depression," according to her. I got over the anger pretty quickly once I realized she wasn't having an affair on me as much as she was satisfying an urge I couldn't fill anymore, since the operation and chemo took about two inches off my libido. That, and the one ball I lost. Maybe it just weirded her out.
Well, if she wants a divorce, I won't hold it against her, but she's out of the will and off the life insurance. I still love her, though. But with Todd around, I can understand how it would be hard to love me back like she used to. Damn, but she looks happy.
Must be that stallion meat. Veila was always an insatiable size queen. Choose wisely and treat kindly, they say. Guess I wasn't the wisest chooser. God knows I treated her well.
I have to piss, and it's kind of a good thing because of the timing. Maybe it's the punch, but more than likely it's the cup of coffee I had before coming over here to keep me at least half-awake. No one notices when I slip out of the office and into the quiet hallway, bereft of life. Not even the cleaning crew comes in on Sundays, and the security detail is downstairs at the front desk.
Right before I set my paw on the handle to the washroom, I remember I won't be able to open the door. I don't know the passcode, and that's because I never use this room anyway. My office has its own, and come to think of it, I've never bothered to even ask for the code or check out where my employees do their business. The door to my office locks anyway, so I can expect a certain level of privacy.
After easing my door open, I flip the bronze toggle, bathing the space in a light I almost never see, except in the winter when the sun sets before five o'clock. A corner office, two walls of which are windows, and the small door to the side that lets onto the restroom. The architecture is left over from the early 1960's, but the style is all mine. Actually, through a multitude of bosses, the furniture has stayed the same, as have most of the accessories. Except for the laptop, of course. Even the wireless router is encased in an art deco box.
For an in-office restroom, it's surprisingly big and very well-appointed. Left over from a time when men ruled the working world and everyone respected the guy at the top, and there was no such thing as sexual harrassment. Don't get me wrong, we've come a long way, but just looking at the jade ashtray I'm not allowed to use brings back memories of those precious days when my father would take me in to his job.
My bladder is throbbing by the time I make it to the urinal, and I let out a sigh much louder than I intended as the flow begins. Propping myself up with one paw against the wall, the other paw holding my sheath, I arch my hips forward to help it along. God, what a marvelous feeling. For one glorious minute I bask in my own massive relief.
I'm just about to zip back up when I catch movement from the doorway. It doesn't immediately register as odd until I remember that this is my private facility in my private office, and no one saw me leave the party. At least, I didn't think anyone did.
He's leaning against the door frame, paws in his pockets, his purple tie loose and askew over his open-collared black shirt. Legs crossed, looking down, as if to avoid staring directly at my exposure, which I move to remedy quickly. Once I'm satisfied I've masked my shock, I put on my best professional face: "Can I help you?"
"Not really, no." The husky in the doorway doesn't look to have reached his mid-twenties yet, and as another point against me, I don't seem to remember having seen him around the office. I don't recall seeing any huskies at all, in fact. "I just saw something in the copy room that I thought you might want to know. Your wife's making out with Todd." He tilts his head out of the room, seeming small despite his deep grey and white winter coat. He doesn't seem pleased to bring me the information, but I can see the grave sense of duty with which he treats it.
"Are they having fun?" I ask, zipping myself up and moving to the sink to wash my paws. He doesn't answer right away, which is pretty much what I expected. My pads slick up with the cheap industrial soap, the ugly pink stuff, and the pungent smell of faux coconut makes my nose wrinkle. And I feel the grin stretching my muzzle, and realize that this guy knows nothing of my "unique" marriage situation. "Oh, come on now, you can tell me the truth."
The husky steps into the doorway, one paw still on the frame. "To be honest, sir, they were going at it pretty heavily. I'm sorry I have to be the one to tell you, but I figured it was better than nothing."
"Well, at least she's having fun at this goddamned party," I say, turning off the water and reaching for the paper towel dispenser. The equipment in here is stainless steel, instead of that gaudy chrome in the employee restroom. "Though you'll excuse me if I don't recall your name."
"I don't think I've ever met you, sir," he says. "I'm the intraoffice courier. "Keene. Nice to finally meet you in person." He doesn't extend a paw to shake, and I can't blame him. His trepidation is wafting into the room from where he stands, but his nervousness is slowly diffusing into guarded relief.
"Likewise, Keene. Tell me: if you've been working for this company, how come I've never seen you around?" Keene lets me past as I exit the bathroom and kill the light.
"I'm just a mail guy. I run around all day delivering documents to people's cubicles and making copies for whomever needs them. You have a box outside your office, so I never have to go in." That makes sense, now that I hear it from him. Strange that I never thought about where the contents of my "IN" box come from. I always assumed it was the post office, my secretary or an outside service. Then again, we occupy three floors in this building, so it would make sense to have a dedicated person to transport it all when Xeroxes won't do.
"I-I'm sorry about your wife," Keene says, following me as I make my way to the door of my office. He says it more out of altruism than real concern, but I can understand his position.
I pat his back, closing the door behind us and locking it. "Let's get back to the party, shall we?" I offer him a smile, but I can feel it's thinness even while doing it. These things happen, I think, this is what happens in life, and this is how you deal with it.
We never get back to the party. We make it halfway down the hall, not a word spoken between us, when Keene grabs my arm and points toward the row of windows on the left, near the emergency exit.
"They're still in there. The light was on before, but the door is still unlocked." That makes sense. Todd has codes to most of the doors, and the copy center--that's what's behind that row of windows--is one of them. I'm struck by a sudden strong urge, morbid as it sounds, to peek in and see what they look like, together. I surprise myself when I realize it's more curiosity than jealousy, and that fact makes up my mind.
"Come on," I say, grabbing the husky's arm.
"Sir, I don't think--"
"I don't pay you to think, Keene, I pay you to do." Keene whimpers behind me but his resistance stops. "I'm not going to confront them."
"What are you--"
"Shhhhh." I can't really tell him I want him there for support, can I? I'm not scared, and I'm not angry. I just don't want to be alone if, in fact, they do see me and I have to try and explain my less-than-caring attitude. Leave it up to Veila to accuse me of not being angry enough that she's cheating on me. I feel a pang of guilt for putting the husky in the middle of all this, but Veila can't fire him, can she?
We crawl side by side through the door, careful to keep hidden behind the row of copiers, printers and faxes that line the outer wall of the room. The island sits to our right, containing ream upon ream of paper and ink. About a quarter of a million dollars' worth of equipment in here, and we don't use it nearly enough to justify the cost. But that was an order from Corporate, not me.
As we round the first corner, I prick up at a familiar sound that sets my tail to bristling the way it always has. That little high-pitched moan Veila makes, and only when she's first penetrated for an evening's pleasure. I can't help my reaction, and when I look across at Keene, I can see he's noticed my sudden change in fur thickness.
"That was her?" he whispers.
"Yeah. They must be awfully horny to think they won't be noticed in here."
"Yeah, but we're the only ones who aren't at the party." This is true; even the employees who go down the hall to the restroom don't even come close to getting a good look in this maze of machinery. "Sir?"
"Uh-huh?"
"Aren't you mad?"
"No." I shake my head, but I know it's the truth. I got used to the fact a long time ago. Prepared myself for it, so it wouldn't affect my life outside the confines of my house. If anything, I'm a little aroused. I can't think of any other reason why I'd have a bit of a chubby at this particular moment.
"Why not? If I may ask, that is."
"It's a long story. Not that painful, but kind of boring. I got cancer and she lost interest."
"Forgive me, sir, but she sounds like a bitch. Literally and figuratively." Keene draws himself up in the corner we've reached, where there's a crawl space between the Xerox and the Toshiba that keeps breaking down. Pale light casts a raccoon-like mask over his eyes. "Oh, Christ." He ducks down again, looking every bit the kid caught shoplifting.
"Are they there?" He nods slowly, his eyes on mine but his face downcast. "Did they see you?" A shake of the head, ears flat as can be. Then the scent hits me, and I have to take a look for myself. "Move over, Keene."
There isn't enough space for both of us to kneel side-on, so I have to crowd the husky against the copy machine and pull my head up slowly until the weak glow makes me squint, just slightly.
Now I know the source of the scent, as if I couldn't tell anyway. Malamute bitch and stallion are kind of hard to mistake for...well...anything else. Veila's still got her blouse on, the smart conservative navy one I got her for her birthday three years ago. Everything below the waist is occupied by Todd's substantial member, however. She's on the break table, scooted right up to the edge, the horse bent over her and thrusting deep. Slow, but deep.
They're not fucking. They're making love. And it really turns me on.
Veila's head is thrown back, her muzzle open. I don't think I ever did anything to garner that expression during the whole of our marriage. Todd's equipment may be average for his species, but he puts anything but a Mastiff or Great Dane to shame. And it's obvious what my wife thinks of it. She's trying her level best to keep quiet, but if I had that much flesh on my clitoris (if I had one), I would be trying not to scream too.
"Damn," I mutter before Keene manipulates himself so he's between me and the wall, and can see without blocking me.
"I'm sorry, sir."
"What for?"
"What do you mean, what for? Just look at it," Keene whispers, his tail dusting the front of my shirt. "You don't feel like going in there and punching his lights out? I'm surprised you haven't already."
"But look how happy she is, Keene," I reply, the words sounding much more insane when they come out in the open. The husky's ears dart back and forth, conflicted between an adulteress and her cuckold. I feel as though I must explain myself, but my marriage has been winding down for so long, it just seems natural to me. Plus...plus...I think Todd cares about her as more than just the boss's wife. It's a mess, but it's manageable. "Look how happy they both are."
We sit there in silence for a bit, watching my wife get plowed by one of my friends and employees. It occurs to me that his cock is leaking copiously all over the table where I sometimes gather the office for an impromptu donut break. Veila's thighs are soaked with it. I'm going to have to pull Todd aside and talk to him about that, for the health of the staff. I can't even wrap my mind around how awkward that will be for him. I can't play the fool forever, not when I have to deal with semen on a table. That makes me giggle.
"Sir?"
"Nothing, I just had a funny thought."
"I guess it's good that you can take this so easily."
"About as easily as my wife can, wouldn't you say?" Keene shifts uncomfortably against me, his wagging reduced by our closeness. It's not that I don't find it traumatic. It's the absurdity of the whole situation, how it's going down, that is unendingly amusing. My light attitude makes me bold, almost giddy. "If you had the chance, wouldn't you screw her?"
Keene's ears perk and frizz out, followed by a burst of heat and scent. I feel a little guilty for putting him on the spot, but he has to know I can smell it coming off him. "Come on, Keene, look where we are. If there's any time you can be honest with me, it's right here, and right now." Veila and Todd have added saliva to the list of exchanged bodily fluids. He's nipping at her muzzle as if it were an apple. My pants are very tight.
"It's okay, it's not my place to make judgments," the husky defers, but I know he's just covering up some embarrassing truth.
"Alright then, if you want to play that game," I mutter, smiling. "Tell me or you're fired."
He turns towards me quickly, his eyes like prey on the savanna. They dare me to tell him I'm kidding, which I am, but I'm not about to admit that. My grin doesn't waver, and he lasts all of ten seconds before he looks down. "No, I don't want to screw her."
"I know you're lying."
"I want to be her," he whispers as his ears droop, and I can instantly see I've made a mistake. Not only have I overstepped my boundaries as a boss, but I've probably humiliated Keene something awful. It was my fault in the first place to assume he was straight, something above which a relatively open-minded man like me should be. Anything I say now will sound trite and forced due to all the expected PC shit in the workplace. But dammit, I was just trying to lighten the mood at the expense of my farce of a marriage.
"Hey, Keene," I begin, placing my paw atop his back. It's exceptionally warm there, and I can feel his heartbeat. I already know he's boned up by his scent, and he can probably tell the same of me. For a different reason, of course. My mind says I'm sorry for putting you in that position, but the well-intentioned apology falls flat in the face of its own double-entendre. I giggle again.
"What?" He sounds defeated.
"Do you really think you could take Todd?" I ask, smirking, hoping he gets what I'm trying to do. He blushes again, this time for the right reasons, and I know I've made the right decision.
"I'd want to try, at least." The husky's tail resumes its wagging, brushing against my shirt, cooling perspiration there I didn't know I had. "Size isn't everything, though."
"Oh?" I ask, wondering how that can be true as I watch Veila suffer her third or fourth orgasm since we started watching. I halfway expect smoke to come up from between her legs. Keene plants his rump on his calves, and I squeeze his shirt to hold my place. His fur is nice and thick under there.
"It's how you use it. Otherwise it hurts, a lot. It depends on the angle, the depth, a lot of stuff." He pauses, realizing how open he's being. "If...you're into that, I mean."
"I don't know," I respond. "I've always been a giver."
Keene makes a phew sound and shudders against me. And my erection. The cleft of his cheeks encompasses my length gently, warmly, and it's not doing me any favors. If my sheath recedes, it will be nothing but uncomfortable.
Todd places one hoof on the table and goes deeper, half his length still outside my wife, taking his sweet time. "You wish you were my wife, huh?"
Keene sighs, then: "Yeah. I'm sorry, sir, but I don't really feel like lying to you. This whole thing is fucked up...you know what I mean."
"I do. I'd like to know why I think this is so hot. You know?"
"I know. I mean...I'm not even bi, but...Christ, you know?"
"Heh, yeah." The silence that follows would be awkward, but we're both too engrossed in our own personal live show to notice. It's like I'm hovering a few inches above myself, watching a malamute and a husky spy on an illicit coupling in a dimly lit office space. In slow motion, I watch droplets of sweat fly from Todd's balls onto the table, and somewhere in the recesses of my mind a little voice makes a note to buy bleach on the way into work tomorrow morning.
Keene's tail fwaps against my chin and brings me partway out of the reverie. It's only then that I notice it's not fanning from side to side anymore, but twitching up and down. Tails don't normally twitch up and down. My paw slides down to the end of Keene's shirt and I feel the tendons there contracting and relaxing. Contracting and relaxing.
Just like Veila would do when she wanted to milk the cum out of me.
He really does want it.
When I stop to consider it, Keene's tail is really quite pretty. White on the bottom, of course, and greyish-brown on the top, with a thin brown line separating the two. Thinner than mine, but curled up and around over his back. Without thinking, I slide it between my thumb and forefinger and rest them there. Just look at it. It begs to be yanked up. My mouth waters and I'm suddenly less interested in my cheating whore of a wife. Whom I love dearly. Mostly.
"Sir?" the husky asks, turning around again, but he only gets halfway when I squeeze and bend his tail forward. Keene slumps toward the wall, gasping, and stays put while I stroke the underside right near the hole in his slacks. "Oh, please, what...what..."
"Stay quiet." The button holding the flap comes undone easily, letting the husky's tail bounce free. His pants are loose enough so that I don't have to reach around and fumble with his fly, and I'm still hovering in that fuzzy mental state while I watch myself take them down, and then slide his boxers right behind them. It's beautiful, that ass, young and solid and so white it's almost a shame to defile that pristine fur.
Fuck Veila. Fuck Todd. Fuck however I feel about them and what's left of my marriage. We're just roommates now. The best roommates ever. Once I talk to Todd, it might blow up. But until then, I'm going to follow her example and do what I feel like doing. And it's weird, but I feel like burying my muzzle between Keene's cheeks and licking for all I'm worth.
Which the husky doesn't seem to mind one bit. He starts up with one of those moans again but clenches it off quick. Smart boy. My snout pushes his tail farther than it's meant to go, and his hole spreads and lets me in without resistance. It's not a vagina by any means, and I find out I've been wrong about the back door my whole life. Keene is clean. The only scents are the faded odor of soap, slightly musky fur and that underlying maleness all of us carry around. And pure, pink flesh. On a good day, Veila can't come close, even with the best douche in the world. This is awesome, carefree, balls-out rimming. I bet Todd's never done this.
Holding myself up by my muzzle in Keene's vise-grip of an ass, I yank open my pants and shove them down to my knees, much to the husky's whimpering and flexing around my tongue. I may have only one working testicle, but it seems to be slicking me up pretty good.
"Oh, my God, what the fuck? What the fuck?" Keene rasps between breaths but stops when I yank his tail even farther, licking six inches up it, leaving a trail of matted fur behind. I survey my handiwork: the thing glistens, spasms, and beats with his heart. A pair of compact balls dangles just below, but this isn't about the husky. It's about me, and if Keene minds he sure doesn't vocalize it. Turning my head sideways, I hawk a good amount of saliva onto his hole and rub it in with my thumbpad.
"Can I trust you not to make any noise?" As I say it, however, my other paw is holding my dick by the knot and rubbing the head up against Keene's hole. He can't help but make a little noise, and I suppose that's one of the reasons behind our respective positions. I'm the one in control (relatively), and he's fighting back the urge to make all kinds of sounds. He nods, just barely. "I've never done this. I don't know what I'm doing."
My answer comes in the form of the husky bearing back into me, popping the first of my five inches in. Oh, God, I forgot what that felt like! Even better, since Veila never let me go in through the rear. It's searingly hot, slicker than I thought it would be and the tightest thing I've ever shoved my cock into. Keene doesn't miss a beat, sinking down until my sheath fur rubs against his buttocks.
"Go, please...I can't take it, just go."
"Am I hurting you?"
"Christ, no!" Keene says, softly, and his paw reaches back to cup my sac and feel where my flesh meets his. "Where's the other one?"
"The other what?"
Keene fondles my testicle. "The other ball."
"Cancer. Kind of killed Veila's mood." I can't believe we're having this conversation, but I do admire the husky's grace under fire, as it were.
"Ohhhh. I'm sorry, sir."
"It still works, you know."
"I know. So go." And I do. I start off slowly, but after about twenty seconds of that Keene is egging me into a faster rhythm, and I can't resist that tight butt with its pipe-cleaner tail bouncing against his lower back. It keeps him accessible, and I don't have to bother holding it out of the way. And, I can watch past my belly as I sink in and withdraw...such a powerful view.
Keene starts pawing at himself after the first minute, which is about the time I finally get my bearings and the pleasure starts to actually build. Part of me wants to ask at intervals if he's okay, but the only thing I can hear is his labored breathing, and he clenches every time he holds it. He's a noisy one, I can tell, by the way he's restraining himself.
I put a paw on the husky's shoulder to keep him from bouncing against the wall, and his ears lower in a delicious little show of submission. This pleases me to no end, but I can't get into the domineering role with Todd and Veila now in front of me, behind a thin pane of glass reinforced with thin metal strips. I can still hear the wet, sloppy results, though. We are comparatively quiet; the mere rustle of fur on fur is stealthy compared to them.
It's like the predictable plot of a bad movie rolling before my eyes. The emasculated husband, literally and figuratively, loses his wife to a more manly man. A studly man. A stallion of breeding and of high intelligence and charm. With a hell of a dong. I mean, look at it! Fourteen inches of gleaming, black horse meat protruding from that flat abdomen. His mane and tail just glow, like the cover of some harlequin romance novel you find in the dollar bin at Goodwill. But he knows how to treat her like a lady. No, that's not right. I know how to treat her like a lady, but Todd knows how to fuck her like a man. Or a horse.
"Oh, oh, oh..." Speaking of taking it like a man, Keene sounds like he's enjoying what I'm doing to him, and even though I have no idea if I'm any good, I must be doing something right. I get my knees in between his and push him wider. Maybe it's the urgency of the moment, maybe it's the fear of being caught, but I want to find the shortest way home and take it. One paw yanking his tail, the other digging claws into his hip, I hold the husky still while I try not to shove my knot in and complicate matters.
Pressure begins to mount just behind my sac, the ease of it a surprise. I'm not used to such a short, intense buildup; the definition of a "quickie" for me has gone from less than a minute to anything less than ten since I was a teenager. I can't explain what it is--the scene in front of me, the tightness around my cock, or the moaning male beneath me--but all I know is I'm getting there, and I'm too wrapped up in feeling good to even utter a word of warning.
It happens when I close my eyes. Todd and Veila disappear, their coupling just a series of wet sounds on the other side of the glass, so I tune them out. Keene's voice and scent come into the fore now; he is the definition of someone who loves and appreciates being taken by someone who loves to do the taking. I look down one last time at those furry cheeks enveloping my length, feel his balls pulled up tight next to mine, and I come crashing over the edge.
I can't help my claws. They don't pierce Keene's skin, but they dig furrows through his grey-brown fur. For a moment my hips are uncontrollable, and I feel my knot pop past his ring. Some unreal amount of self-control allows me to pull back out, the husky whining the whole time. He probably would prefer it stay in, but I'll be damned if I'm going to tie here in this office.
You can do that another time, Luke, I think, and the fact that there may be another time...maybe...only adds to the abandon. It gets way too sensitive way too soon and I have to stop...and this is no ordinary orgasm. My body is suffused with a warmth timed to my heartbeat, the pressure letting go in one massive, glorious peak. I can't move, but it's a good thing because it lets me really feel my seed pumping through me and spreading around my cockhead, deep within the husky's body.
Keene groans like a dog on drugs, half-conscious and fully engrossed in his own pleasure. After I'm able to move without suffering a pang of almost-painful sensation, I grind up into him slowly, spreading my load around and enjoying that unique slickness. He gets tighter and tighter until his hips start rocking, and the scent of musky husky juice hits my nose. The rhythmic squeezing is almost painful.
After waiting another minute to let Keene cool down, I pat his rump and withdraw, gaining another appreciative noise and a drool of cum down the husky's white sac. I can't explain it, but that's a beautiful sight. Makes me feel like a man again. That's a lot of cum for a one-balled guy.
"Are you okay?" I ask as Keene struggles to turn around.
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay," he replies. "Did they finish?" We both become quiet, and I realize for the first time that there's no more noise coming from the break room. I can't believe it when I take a peek, only to discover it's empty. Not even a trace of fluid on the table.
"They're gone."
"No way!" Keene takes a look for himself.
"They must have been quick."
"Quicker than us." Then the thought hits me, sending a momentary icy spike into my heart. If they finished, and they could hear us, Veila might know. But who gives a shit, because she's the one who did it first! How long did we actually take? How loud were we? It doesn't really matter, now that they're gone. I can't help but feel this morbid disappointment that I missed the cumshot. I wanted to see the cumshot for some reason. Well, I made my own.
Keene walks through to the break room and finds some paper towels to wipe off with, while I merely tuck myself back into my pants and zip up. When the husky comes back in, he averts his gaze for a second, then remembers we just had sex so it's kind of pointless.
"I guess we have to go back," he says, and I nod. We're a little awkward in spite of ourselves, but I try to make it known without words that our relationship hasn't changed. At least for me; I can't vouch for him. I tell him to go on back to the party because I have to close up my office, and he pads off without turning around. I give the place a once-over before turning off the lights and locking the door behind me, surprising myself with the calmness I feel. No guilt, thank God. But this wasn't about revenge. No animosity, no passive-aggressive bullshit. Veila got hers and I got mine. All's fair in...well, I do still love my wife.
Still, I think you little slut as soon as she sees me and motions me over once I get back to the party area. For someone who just got herself plowed in the best way, by one of the largest cocks I've ever seen, she doesn't seem to be too happy. As I approach, I catch a whiff of her perfume and have to fight not to wrinkle my nose. She reeks of the stuff, and I can still smell Todd on her. I would have thought her more clever than that.
"There you are," she coos, snuggling up against my side in a pseudo-half-hug. "I went off to the bathroom and you disappeared on me."
"We must have had the same idea," I reply. "I headed to the john myself."
"I didn't see you." She has the gall to look at me with a doubtful cocked eyebrow. I don't know how she can keep a straight face. Then again, I don't know how I can, either.
"I've got my own, in my office, remember?" She appears as if she doesn't, for a moment, and then I watch her clearly feign enlightenment.
"Oh, yeah. I forgot about that. Oh, hey, Chloe, did you get that post I put on your wall the other day?" Veila walks over to yet another of her "business bitch" friends and begins to talk the lemur's ear off. I'm glad to be alone again, as I've not yet had time to properly gather my thoughts or wrap my mind around what's happened tonight. I prop myself up at the table where the punch bowls are mostly empty and make small talk with my employees, most of whom seem fine but are barely hiding their loathing of having to be here. I'll definitely have to do something to make up for this atrocity.
The punch goes down easy as I follow Veila and Chloe around the room with my eyes, chatting about whatever they find entertaining on the Internet. I also notice a couple of intriguing absences: both Todd and Keene are nowhere to be found. I can understand why the horse might want to split, but the husky didn't appear to be uneasy or regretful. If he doesn't show up for work tomorrow, I'll be genuinely concerned.
_Me? Concerned about Keene? Isn't it too early for that crap? _ I'll have to track him down, if only to make sure we're on the same page as far as job security and secrecy.
Nine-thirty rolls around and I'm preparing to yank my wife away from her conversation when she does the work for me with a finger wave to Chloe and an overly dramatic walk back to me.
"I think I'm tired now, Lukey. Shall we go?" Years ago, that used to be wife-speak for "Let's get out of here so we can fuck" but now it is exactly what it appears to be.
"Yeah, let's blow these fuckers."
"Luke! People can hear!" she shushes me with a paw to my muzzle. "Alright, let's go then." I make idle chitchat on our way to the door, making sure to thank Lois for the wonderful time and we should do this again, even though I will make sure it either never happens again, or never happens on a goddamned Sunday night. I've never been more grateful to breathe the night air.
I push our sedan harder than usual on the drive home. Part of me wants to take tomorrow off and sleep in, another part can't wait to talk with Keene and confront Todd (in a friendly way, I swear). Veila slumps in the passenger seat, snoozing, the lights of the city making the shock of white fur below her neck seem to glow, and my cell goes off. It's a text message, from a number I don't recognize. I pick up the phone and click the message open: I HOPE IT'S NOT WEIRD NOW.
My wife hasn't stirred. I know exactly who it is, of course. It finally dawns on me, as I exit the freeway, the gravity of my life as it stands. I mean, this is fucked up. So why do I feel fine? Why do I feel like I haven't done anything wrong, that Veila and I are even? What kind of a middle-aged man thinks that way? What kind of any kind of man, for that matter?
Veila snorts in her sleep. She's always done that. She did that the first night I met her, after that first bout of wild, young sex. I rolled over to initiate a second round, and she snorted at me. I laughed at it then, and I laugh at it now, under my breath. I don't know how she feels, whether she carries an appropriate amount of guilt or any guilt at all. I know I don't feel guilty. I mean, it's not as if I cheated on her with another woman.
That might be the most fucked up thing of all.
I turn the corner of our street and press the button that will open the gate and garage door, and they're both out of the way by the time I turn into the driveway. Veila wakes up as soon as the car stops, of course. She yawns and stretches her lithe, still sensuous body. I should really try to seduce her soon. I'm not Todd, but I still have a knot.
"Ah, God, I'm tired. That was fun. Did you have fun, Luke?" She puts a gentle paw on my shoulder, and I turn to answer her. I try to find a duplicitous bitch in there somewhere, but for some reason, I can't. Her eyes are still the same beautiful blue as the day I met her, the day I married her. I'm probably hopeless.
I remember slipping under Keene's eager tail and reply immediately. "Yeah, I had fun. Glad we went."
"We kind of had to."
"You didn't." I lean in and kiss the tip of her muzzle. "Thanks for doing it anyway." Veila just smiles and opens the door. I let her go on ahead and open up my phone, clicking up a message for Keene: NOT WEIRD AT ALL. HAD FUN, HOPE YOU DID TOO. NOT AWKWARD, OKAY? WE'LL TALK TOMORROW, NO WORRIES.
I close the gate and garage, lock up the house and set the alarm. It takes all of two minutes, but it seems longer because I don't know if I've made a gigantic mistake. Keene could hold it over my head. He could do a lot of things. Or he could send me a reply that makes me smile all the way into the bedroom, where my wife lies, waiting for me to hold her to sleep: "<3."
2/14-4/17/10