Midnight Secrets
Written for the SoFurry Autumn 2010 story contest, wherein the writer had to build on a given opening (in italics).
Midnight Secrets
It was the witching hour, nothing so crude as midnight of course. Anyone can be a witch at midnight under a full moon. It was past 3 am and he had been awoken by a hand on his shoulder, shaking him urgently. His eyes opened to an unfamiliar ceiling and the usual questions of "Who am I?" "Where am I?" "Am I wearing clothes?" filled his head and were promptly banished. A finger pressed against his lips and words were whispered into his ear barely above the threshold of hearing, the voice one of a distant memory his sleep addled brain could not yet recollect.
"I want to tell you a secret."
That voice sounded vaguely familiar to Reggie. The recumbent Doberman struggled to recall where he had heard it before. Images slowly formed in his mind. They included memories of loud music, bright lights, and undulating bodies. Yesterday, or was it today? Yesterday he decided, had been Friday, the day he and his friends usually went out for the evening.
It was starting to come back to him now. He and few of the other guys from work had gone downtown to watch the game. The home team had won, and that was always an excuse to hit a few more bars in celebration. They had ended up in one of the larger clubs, an old theatre in the neutral territory between the sports bars and the gay district. Where team jerseys mixed with rainbow festooned tank tops and muscle shirts in an uneasy truce.
The police had been out in force, with several patrol cars parked in plain view nearby. It was not unusual for a fight to break out later in the evening when the liquored-up sports fans that had failed to hook up took out their frustrations on the local gay population. Everyone had been a little tense, especially with the recent killings.
The talk at the table had naturally turned to the subject of the killer the local paper had dubbed "the Gay Blade". Four young males, believed to be male prostitutes, had been found mutilated in their apartments or hotel rooms. Details were scarce, and the police refused to confirm it, but the papers claimed that the mutilations involved castration. There had been a fifth murder, a transvestite had been roughed up and stabbed in an alley in the market district, but opinion was spilt as to whether it was also the work of the Gay Blade.
Chuck, a brown and white Boxer that had completed half of a Police Studies Certificate before giving up and going to work as a security guard was their local authority. He believed that the attack on the transvestite was unrelated.
"Different modus operandi. Serial killers like this stick to one type of victim." Chuck had stated. "This guy likes the fags, and your average transvestite is not a homosexual, according to experts. Other than their habit of picking up guys in bars those first four looked just like you or me. Well, at least like you, Billy." He joked.
Billy, a collie who was vain about his appearance, spent most of his minimum-wage salary on clothes and in the hair salons. He had fumed at the implication that his sexuality might be suspect because of his flashy attire.
The group broke up in search of females and reformed at regular intervals for liquid fuel. They had already been half in the bag before arriving, and had wasted no time drinking the rest of their way in. The beer had given way to whiskey and eventually a succession of colourful shooters. By eleven Reggie was already having trouble focusing, but he had no trouble seeing the cat that was leaning against a railing near their table.
She was Siamese, tawny with dark brown paws, tail and face. Her deep blue eyes had stood out vibrantly under the flashing lights of the club. She was tall, but not as tall as Reggie, and slim, like all Siamese, but she had unusually large breasts. Probably artificial, Reggie remembered speculating about them, and wondering how they would feel in his paws. She was wearing a black velvet collar with a golden bell and a low-cut loose dress that hung straight down from her breasts and stopped at the top of her thighs. It hid her waist and hips but showed he fine tapered legs and the curve of her cute butt. Reggie's mouth had begun to water.
He remembered asking her if she wanted to dance. She had nodded yes and they had wedged themselves into the crowd on the floor. Reggie had let his paws slide over her and she had not stopped him. He squeezed her breasts and she just pressed in harder. But when his paw had wandered down toward the junction of her legs she had slapped it away, giggling.
They had stopped for another drink. More fondling on the dance floor followed. Then they were swapping spit in a dark corner. He breasts were out of her dress, and Reggie could feel small scars on their undersides, but real or not they had felt, and tasted, great. She had mentioned that she lived nearby, and wondered if he would like to go there? It was the first time she had spoken.
"Did you hear me, Reggie? Are you awake, sugar?"
Yes, he thought, it was the same voice. She had said her name was Patty. Obviously he had accepted her offer. He raised a paw to indicate that he could hear her, and peeked at his luminous watch. It was just after three o'clock.
Reggie did a quick analysis. He still felt a little drunk, with no sign of the hangover that drinking so much would bring, so it must be three in morning. The witching hour, his mother used to say, the time when people got in trouble. The drinker's hour, his father had called it, the time in the morning when your blood sugar spiked and woke you up no matter when you had passed out. The time of the morning when the two of them would usually start fighting, Reggie recalled, before she ran off, leaving him alone with the abusive alcoholic.
Reggie could feel cool sheets on bare fur. So he was naked in a stranger's bed. He could feel the weight of his limp cock on his thigh, and the sticky moisture around it. He could also feel the pleasant ache that came from cumming hard, like you did the third time in a row or after too many drinks. Which had it been he wondered? Probably a little of both.
Random scenes came to mind. Following her cute ass and swaying tail up the stairs to her apartment. He big round fuzzy breasts with their chocolate coloured nipples when she slipped the straps of her dress off her shoulders. Her lips sealed around the head of his cock, her eyes closed, as her tiny paws caressed his shaft. Had he been standing, sitting, or laying down at that point? He could not remember. It didn't matter.
He remembered cumming in her mouth, and how she had gripped the cheeks of his ass and pulled him into her as fiery liquid shot through his cock. Reggie had not as much as masturbated in a couple of months, so it was quite a load. She had held on and swallowed it all, hers sharp incisors coming close to circumcising him.
The next thing he remembered was lying on his back in her bed, with her beside him, her head down by his waist. She was up on one elbow, crooning sweetly, encouraging him as she stroked his semi-erect penis with one paw. She was using a lubricating gel that must have had menthol in it; it felt hot and deliciously cold at the same time. The gel, her exotic face, her firm store-bought breasts pressed against his thigh, and the light touch on his sensitive prick had been enough to get him up again after only a few minutes rest. He recalled reaching for her then, but she had danced away playfully.
When he was hard enough she had stopped avoiding him. She had stood beside the bed and bent over at the hips to grip the mattress. Reggie had rolled out of bed and come up close behind her. He reached around to caress her breasts, and rubbed his erection between the cheeks of her ass as the tip of her tail tickled his snout. Then, with ass up, tail high, and thighs pressed tight together, she had guided the tip of his cock to her tailhole.
Her anus was already rimmed with lubricant and it had parted easily around Reggie's cock. He slid comfortably into her until her buttocks pressed against his hips and his balls bounced on the back of her thighs. All that he had to do after that was put his paws on her shoulders, she had done the rest. She rocked and rolled that fine ass up and down his shaft, squeezing it from tip to base with her tight ringpiece, grinding it against him. With her legs pressed so firmly together her tailhole had been exquisitely tight.
It had lasted a long time, thanks to his recent ejaculation and the numbing effect of the alcohol. Had he howled? Probably, he seemed to remember someone pounding on the wall and yelling for quiet at one point. She had slowly descended onto the bed and he had followed, until her torso was flat on the mattress and he was straining to hold himself up above her. But her ass had never stopped moving, and when he had cum, he did it deep in her anal passage, with such force that it made him dizzy.
He must have passed out then, he realized. Somehow she had got out from under his two hundred pounds and rolled him on to his back. Or maybe he landed that way after gallantly pulling out of her. It did not matter either way. All that he wanted to do now was sleep. But Patty was insistent.
"Reggie, I want to tell you a secret." She repeated in a whisper that was barely audible.
Reggie sighed and sat up. It was too late to get back to sleep now; the drinker's hour had him even if the witching hour did not. He needed to pee badly, and gulp some water before his brain dried up. Maybe take a couple of Tylenol if she had any.
"What is it Patty?" He asked wearily.
"It's a shocking secret." She teased. "Promise that you won't freak out when I tell you?"
"How can I promise that when I have no idea what you are going to say?" He was starting to be intrigued.
"We had a good time last night, right?" She asked, a slight nervous edge to her voice. "It was good for you, I mean. You liked it? Everything we did?"
"It was fantastic, all of it." At least all that he could remember, he corrected himself. "Get to the point, Patty. What do you want to tell me?"
"Maybe I had better show you instead." She said. She took his paw, the one closest to her, and guided it to where her legs joined. She spread her thighs, possibly for the first time since he met her, and put his paw down there.
Reggie felt the distinct bulge of a limp penis and a small tight ball sac below them. The penis twitched and he jerked his paw away. Fully awake now, he stared into her deep blue orbs.
"I was born Patrick, but everyone calls me Patty. I knew I was different, so as soon as I could I ran away and came to the city. I'm what they call a pre-op transsexual. One more operation and I'm done though. I know I should have told you before, but when I saw you staring at me in the club I couldn't resist." Patty stopped talking and stared back at Reggie, trying to interpret the expression on his face, but it was unreadable.
"Listen, don't blame yourself. You're not the fist straight guy to fall for me. And hey," Patty added, gripping the newly revealed penis and balls, both shrivelled by hormone treatments, "in a few months there won't even be this little thing between us. Tell me that you liked it, Reggie. Tell me." Patty was almost begging now. But the big dog remained silent. "Are you in shock, Reggie?"
Reggie shook his head as if to clear it. "Shock? No. Maybe. Can I ... can I get a glass of water from your kitchen?"
"I'll get it for you." Patty went to get up, but Reggie put out a restraining paw.
"No, that's okay. I can do it." He got to his feet a little unsteadily and staggered out of the bedroom.
Patty lay back and waited. The Dobermann probably needs a few minutes alone to think about this, she supposed.
* * * * * * * *
In the kitchen of the single bedroom apartment Reggie ran the cold water but ignored the glasses on the shelf above the sink. Instead, he rummaged through the cupboards and drawers looking for something else.
He had known, of course, that she was a transsexual. It was obvious from her build and the way she stood, and the collar to cover the protruding male larynx was a dead giveaway. Very much a dead giveaway in this case. Experts may say that transvestites and transsexuals were not the same as gays, but they were close enough for Reggie. As far as he was concerned, if they wanted to act like females, dress like females, or take a cock like females, they should be built like females.
He found what he was looking for, an assortment of carving knives. He selected a thin, flexible de-boner, and giggled at the unintended pun. He slid the drawer closed and turned off the water. With the knife held behind his back he turned back toward the bedroom. Reggie had a little secret of his own to share.