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Bowling for Herms

She is masterful on the lanes. The soft figure, the curve of her tense fingertips as they grip the shining orb. The way her ass makes that final firm adjustment, a small indentation of underwear along the crease of her form-fitting khaki pants. Her tail twitches once, a flash of orange and velvety white, then she is lifting the ball to her chest. A gorgeous chest, straining the blue and black of her bowling shirt, the collar open to the third button, allowing a teasing dark line in her fur that bounces and jiggles with her every motion. The flourescent light from the snack shack shines off the whiteness off her wet fangs as her lips curl in concentration, the tip of her pink tongue slithering through the crevice. Her left front claw taps the waxy wooden slats in anticipation, and the reflection of her calve muscles tensing is barely visible in the shiny surface.

Her first stutter step begins, well-trained and fluid, followed by the barely audible "swoosh" of her second prominent stabilization appendage. The motion is electric, a kinetic force building in feminine ministrations; a calculated walk that defies sensuality, yet draws my eyes for the fluid perfection. She lets the bowling ball swing down with the Earth's energy, her mouth slightly parting, her beautiful bosom separating and emphasizing their mass. I am stunned by the glittering sparkles inside the translucent purple sphere as it swings upwards in her powerful paws. There is no wind, only a stark stillness and the scent of mountain spring antiseptic, as her backlit form holds the position for a nanosecond. An audible moan escapes my straining lips as she teases the world with the anticipation. I can feel the tension gripping her as the moment approaches. She grits her teeth, sneering with the act of coercion, her body arching at the back, her toes curling. The ball is ready to explode like a cannon. It is slick and gleaming, the veins in her petite hands visible for a single photographic moment in time and space. I tense my neck with her as it comes. The release is ecstatic, it sends her fingers reeling, her body relishing the statuesque finishing pose with her arm lifted high in the air as if entreating God to take her forever into his kingdom most high. Her angelic, full figured body like an Amazonian champion makes my heart leap from my chest.

The ball spins down the lane, slicing into a solid, vicious curve and strikes the army of pins between the sergeant and lieutenant. And the rest all faint in sympathy.

"She's pretty good." I think to myself. "But... I'm better." I smile at her as she enjoys her mild triumph and begin my throw. I never break my eye-contact with her through the entire swift stroke even as the ball exits my expert fingers.

"You're pretty good." I say out loud, as I return to standing, wiping my paws. The sound of pins smashing is like music to my ears and I don't even have to look. She, however, ever-so-noticeably shifts her eyes down the lane, and then smiles, returning to my gaze. "But... I'm better."

She breaks out in laughter from the lane across from mine, rolling her eyes. "Alright, big bad wolf. I think you may want to, uh, check your pins. You seem to have left..."

I interrupt her, never breaking eye-contact. "...left two pins standing? I know. The 4 and the 10. Definitely one of the worst splits to have." There are not many situations in which I can woo the opposite sex with my very specific skills, so I have to be damn sure to milk it for everything it is worth. I dry my left hand in the forced air vent by the ball return. With a "schlop," my jet-black, oily ball falls out and onto the rails. "I haven't seen you around here before."

The girl bites her tongue, obviously not completely at ease with the strange wolf in front of her. "I'm staying at my friend's place." She nods toward the direction of her feline friend who is sashaying to the vending machines. "She's not much of a bowler, but she knows how I can't resist a good game. A little bit of returning the favor."

"You are definitely 'much of a bowler' then?" I ask with a smirk.

"I dabble. The guys at the League call me 'The Pro,' but only because I've won the regional tournament every year since I was old enough to enter." The competitive glance she gives me has my little red cowboy peaking out of his sheath. She smoothes back the white fur on her cheek.

"Sounds familiar to me. Well... i guess if you call the entire East Coast a 'region.'" I didn't expect to be such a braggart, but if she insists. Seriously, I can't help having an entire closet dedicated to holding my bowling trophies. I only have so much room for the big ones in the living room. I can't just throw them out!

She brings me back to reality. "Never saw your name on the Pro circuit."

"Never saw yours." I counter. I have my reasons.

"I have my reasons." She says, echoing my internal monologue.

"And so do I."

There is a smug silence shared between us.

"Maybe you should clean up the mess you left." She states, motioning towards my lane and the two individualized white pins.

"Right." I place the fingers of my left paw into the three holes. That perfect amount of friction, sealed back swing, with an explosive forward release; they are an excellent set of circles. "My names Al, by the way." I extend my right paw over the ball return, and we both can feel the rough callouses along our two center digits when she reciprocates warmly.

"Charmed. I'm Ellie."

I re-adjust the ball in my left hand, this time an accurate throw needing a more visual reference point. I zone in on the third brown arrow to the left and with a completely trained, ingrained, and mechanical motion, I let the black sphere fly. It glides achingly close to the left edge, then the spin catches. I turn away, my right ear cocking high into the air theatrically. Ting, shloop, ting! And the familiar rattle of the pin setter reseting.

Ellie is staring at my slightly pudgy self, dressed in blue and white, sporting an exact replica of her off-white khakis (she must shop at the Gap too). My tail wags as I grin.

"Impressive. I really like the little trick with the no-look split." She laughs. "I'll have to try that out sometime."

"It's all in the ears. I've been doing it since I was a kid." I tug on my prized fuzzy gray triangles. "I can tell exactly what pins are down just by the sound."

I notice her competitive side come alive at the challenge. She is exactly my type; a little meat on her bones, lovely large drool-worthy chest pillows, that striking color difference between bright red-orange to white on her markings. I can't figure out which impresses me more, her looks, or her definitive skill at my favorite sport. The package is overwhelming, but I continue overplaying the pompous confidence in my most usual extra-flirty way.

"Really?" She asks rhetorically. "Alright, try this one." With a flick of her wrist, she lifts her sparkling ball. "And turn completely around so you can't fake it off the screen this time."

I roll my eyes at her, and turn around, shutting my eyes completely. My ears cock like radar satellites and pick up on the sound of her ball whispering down the lane. I gauge the length of time for her ball to finally strike the pins. To most furs, what happens next is more aptly described as someone dropping a bucket of wood blocks onto a marble floor. The pins bash and spin like clockwork. In that split second I can hear the distinct angle of the pummeling: right side. The scrape of the front pin as it slides uselessly to the gutter, the three pin careening. She did not make it easy. For a second, I logically compute the information, knowing that the entire right side has a 95 percent chance of falling to the onslaught, and the audible clatter confirmed it. The other side is a little more difficult, and the five pin's fate is double-checked and triple-checked in my mind.

I do not open my eyes, and confidently state. "You're looking at a pretty easy spare. Aim straight for the 2, and you can't help but knock down the 4, 7, and 8 in the process."

She chuckles, and I open my eyes. "Right on. 2, 4, 7, 8." For effect, she pauses. "I, personally, usually concentrate on my throwing ability, but that's a fun, little, magic trick." I could tell she was not going to concede me any victory.

"Who's bowling my frame?" We both turn, breaking out of our battle of smug. Ellie's feline friend is munching on a Charleston Chew, and pointing at the computer screen above us. From a closer perspective, I would describe her friend as the definition of a 'model.' She is thin, with perfectly groomed tabby cat fur lining her cheeks and arms with black stripes. It's obvious that if you wrapped her in measuring tape, she would have the exact volume that men would find irresistable. She had excellent density and superb mass with a buoyancy that wouldn't fucking quit. But, despite these lovely scientific assets, I find myself looking at her like a six pin; just another face in the crowd. A six pin that also seems way out of my league.

"Sorry kitty!" Ellie yells at her friend, then turns to me. "Her name's Christy."

"S'alright babe, I think I'll take a little tinkle. You tell me when my next turn is, 'kay?" The kitten places her Chew on one of the tables lining the back of our conjoined alley. She smiles toothily, then sucks on the tip of her chocolate-covered finger. Okay, so I lied. If the growing thunderdome in my khakis is any indicator, she is definitely more of a three pin.

"I will, hun!" I catch a quick icy glance from the kitten as she turns, and my meter returns to zero.

I turn to the sexy bowling vixen at hand and our pompousness clashes severely. There is only so much a wolf can take before he is forced to enact his cheesy pick-up lines. "How about we have a little competition, regional champ? Maybe even make a little wager to keep it interesting?"

"What do you have in mind?" She snaps back.

I fake as if I haven't already figured the whole equation out, stalling for a moment. "How about this? We'll play one game. And If I win, I get to take you out for a late dinner tonight. Sound fair?" I am not one to drag something out.

"Ooh!" She says, her eyes looking hesitantly to the side. "That's not gonna go over well with the kitty."

"Well, hey, if you win, you know, you won't have to explain a thing to your friend there. But, if you don't have confidence in your ability, I'd completely understand."

I really enjoy the sound of her surprised laughter. A very attractive defense mechanism. "Well, damn. I guess we can't have that." She says with heavy sarcasm. "What happens if I win?"

I wave my paw once like I'm wiping off a chalkboard at hip level. "You'll bowl for free tonight. I'll pay for every one of your games and I'll hit the road too, so you can enjoy it."

Her shimmering, radiant corneas move upwards and to the left; a very good indication that she intends to answer affirmatively. "I accept." And we shake paws for a second time. "Just don't speak a word to the kitty."

"But of course." I reply with fake gentility.

Her illustrious, floating, orange tail with a tip of white seems to flutter on by. When she leans over the computer console at the foot of the lane, I am gifted with a generous helping of cleavage casserole and lick my lips respectfully. I only stop drinking in her frame when I take the final step from the wooden platform and begin rooting through my bowling sack.

Firstly, I lift my lucky towel from a zippered pocket, the Marlboro logo emblazoned across the front; a memento from my earlier chain-smoking years. Then, I reach for the slick surface of "Hammer-On," my latest and most professionally manufactured choice of bowling ball glory. If heaven could exist within three semi-ovular orifices, these slick, ribbed, coiled, spring-loaded, rubberized indentations would be the closest thing. I lift the transparent ball from it's soft hiding place and allow it to breath deeply in the open air. Within the confines of the spiral laced, laser enhanced glow of the splendid orb, is a small carpenter's hammer. And in the space between, where the imaginary hammer would potentially strike with godly strength, are three 24 karat gold stars. It is a piece of modern art, a functional piece of moving eloquence.

When my eyes focus again, I can see Ellie staring appreciatively, with that oh-so-slight hint of jealousy and wonderment. "I like to use my favorite when I'm about to get serious."

"I like it. Even despite the Communist iconography it portrays." Her white fingers tap at the keyboard, and the screen above the lane flickers before the scores are reset. "I guess I'm up first." She states and bounces to her well-contoured foot-pads. Her sturdy long arch is so perfectly digitigrade it makes my balls ache.

"Don't be nervous." I say as that Vixen ass tenses encased in khaki. She lifts her ball from the rails, and I, again, am allowed to see the most heavenly sight of her perfect approach. I realize quickly that I'll have to start distracting myself or I'll be bowling around a solid erection.

The pins explode and fall like a symphony in ten thousand beats per minute. "Don't worry. I'm not." She grins and exits the floor.

I wipe the hammer with a pack of marlboros, and rise to my feet. My walk is calculated and calm from the second my toes flex against the slick wood. I cannot tell, but I think she may be making a comment as my swinging motion begins, but my concentration is completely focused on three centimeters to the right of the third brown arrow to the left. My left paw releases and the ball spins down the lane. It takes 2.24 seconds for it to touch the front pin and within the time it takes for me to make a fist, all wooden pins are presumed dead or missing in action.

"Nice form." She states, and I feel my little wolf pressing against my belt. By the look on her face, she is enjoying the show just as much as I am.

The game continues, frame by frame, and she is, thankfully, the first to experience a mistake. Leaving that rascally 7 pin to mock her on the fifth frame. Luckily for her, I follow her lead and flub my next shot, having to salvage a split spare and become resigned to her one-point lead for the next few frames. As we reach the eighth frame, her second egregious error is delivered, and this leaves her with a dreaded 7-10 split. I allow her the silence she deserves, but her friend, Christy decides to cheer her on. Oh yes, at some point during our game, the feline friend returns and Ellie is kind enough to explain the situation, leaving many key plot-points out of the equation. Christy is sitting four seats away from me along the plastic, sky-blue bench, her tail twitching in boredom.

Ellie rears back, taking a solid stab at the staggering split from an off-center line of footsteps. The result is impressive; however, the result is not impressive enough to actually win her back the frame. She slams the 10 pin with too much of a solid angle, and instead of a scathing tap, it receives a thrust that sends it spinning an inch or two behind the 7. An open frame.

I immediately capitalize on the situation, letting loose a strike. She counters with a well-timed curse word. But, she continues to impress, making my job very difficult. The next four throws are dead-on, and she is looking at an excellent 245.

She begins to walk back to her seat after her last throw, exhaling dejectedly through her shiny black nose. And I notice something that maybe I should have noticed before. Maybe I wasn't paying attention to her form after the first throw as a defense against the gun in my pants setting me off balance, or maybe it is the nonchalant adjustment she makes to the front of her slacks, but there is distinct non-linear quality to the seam of her zipper. It looks as though she is hiding another pair of bowling socks in her underwear.

I pause to rearrange my thoughts accordingly. But, there it is, staring me in the face like that last Christmas present tucked away deep under the tree. A bulge, a generous bulge, a noticeable generous bulge.

I click my teeth. The thought of it awakens something deep inside of me that I haven't felt since puberty. Never did I imagine that I would be bowling for a hermaphrodite. And I probably wouldn't have guessed at the positive, uncontrollable reaction it causes in my khakis. I like herms. The feeling makes me a little nervous, I'll admit. Not only do I have a much larger incentive for victory... I guess I will bowling the last frame with tented trousers. Very tented trousers. Very noticeably tented trousers.

I try to stay level-headed and just finish the frame with one good last strike. After that, her fate is sealed. But, as I'm making those signature steps, I'm shaking like a ball waxing machine and my brain repeats the mantra, "Herm, herm, herm, herm, herm." I let the ball release, cringing slightly as my delicate wolf-spear impales itself into my belt buckle.

Damn! Damn it, fucking shit. I'm right back at the start of the night. The 4 and the 10 are still standing, mocking me and sneering at me with their shiny red collars. I sneer right back with murder in my eyes. "If you make me lose this, you stupid fucking pins." I whisper at them through my teeth, waiting for the stupid, dumb ball-return. "I will stab every fucking tree I ever see. You like that, huh? Me stabbing every one of your grandchildren, you stupid fucking pins!" I think the vixen notices my heavy breathing.

"You alright, Mr. Wolf? You know, if you miss this one, I will win. Just to let you know." I look over my shoulder and she is stroking her friend's neck fur, grinning wildly. That bulge of hers is probably grinning as well.

With a "schlop," I am able to grab my ball from the rails and taunt the pins again, this time letting them know about all the slash-and-burn farming I will be doing in the near-future. I swing, feeling my form off-kilter and balance not as smooth. The ball sails down the lane in slow-motion, then strikes the 4 pin. With a perfect swing, the pin slams the ten and I am in the clear. I raise my fist in triumph, howling with a rush of exhilaration.

"And that would be how it's done." I say, returning her earlier grin.

She storms the lane, meeting me half-way with an accusingly cute finger. "Alright, double or nothing!" Those balls of jiggly, pearly, white fluff on her chest, shake in the most sexy, cuddly way imaginable behind that outstretched digit.

"Double or nothing?" I laugh. "Wait, you want two dinners? That's ridiculous. I'm not going to hand you double the money for the lanes either, that'd..."

"Okay, okay, new bet entirely, you ass!" I thoroughly enjoy her anger. It brings the spring back to the fur on her neck.

I notice that her Christy friend appears disinterested in the proceedings, and from what I spied earlier, I can see why she may not have her heart set on an evening of Bowling. Because of the clatter of echoing pins, the loud conversations of over forty lanes, the soft rock music from the Ten Pin Pub in the back corner, and one thousand other sonical vibrations, I know Christy is unable to hear a word between the two of us and it is obviously boring her to tears.

Ellie takes a moment to collect her thoughts, then continues with her voice much lower, and her arm waving, entreating me into a huddle position. "Here's the deal. If I win, you have to pay for our bowling, AND take us both out to dinner AND a movie. Except, you'll be going home by yourself at the end of the night, no matter what. And if you win, we'll skip the dinner, skip the movie, and we'll go back to my friend's house where you'll get to celebrate your victory."

Her new attitude definitely peaks my interest. I look over her left shoulder, at the orange tabby cat who is sucking on the Charleston Chew, oblivious. "Gambling your friend away too now. Don't want you to get too carried away, maybe you should ask her..."

She interrupts voraciously. "Do you accept the terms? Or are you just going to stall all night?" I feel if I answer negatively, she just may leap at my jugular with the competitive look she is exuding.

"What do I have to lose?" I state and extend my paw. "I was, however, wondering when you were going to tell me you were packing heat, dearest. You are the real deal, I assume. Not some dolled up man."

"Never had balls and never will. You like what you see, champ?" She is quick with her retorts, letting loose with just a hint of blatant sexuality. I suddenly feel like I'm in a film noir, and act accordingly.

"I like even better what I don't see, babe. Never had a herm before."

"There's a first time for everything."

"But, I guarantee the second time'll be even longer."

She chuckles and breaks eye-contact, smoothing back her white neck fur again, and teasing with a little arch in her back. "You have the honors, Al." With a swift and surprising motion, Ellie reaches over to the rails, and lifts "Hammer-on" like it is a thing to be worshipped. She feels the surface of the large sphere with her left paw, and leans in to give the holy object a brief kiss. "But, you might want to adjust yourself first. You look a little R-rated at the moment. Good luck!" She rolls the ball into my waiting paws, and turns, over-emphasizing the sway of her gelatin hips. I make sure to adjust the rail-road spike in my shorts.

The game treads along slowly with fumbling from me and spin-control problems I haven't experienced since puberty. I leave the first frame open, after missing an easy spare attempt, and the rest of my play is catch-up. Bowl after bowl, I am subjected to winks, nods, hints of extra cleavage, and sometime during the seventh frame, a show that consisted of two extremely attractive, pink tongues touching, then close to two full minutes of lips locked in an energetic kiss. Her tactics would not work, however, I guarantee. How much harder could my hardness hardly get? I re-adjust myself for the thousandth time and return an unenthusiastic "thumbs-up" signal to an enthusiastic wolf walking by the vending machines. The display of seemingly female-on-female action began to attract a small crowd. What a sleazy tactic. I like this vixen more with every passing second.

I am determined not to lose, and my play improves, sending me strike after strike, all the way till the end. 256. This puts her in a precarious position, needing to pretty much strike three times in the tenth to eek out a small victory. More specifically, she needs to strike twice, then leave at least nine pins in the gutter.

"Easy enough." She says to me as she walks past, winking and admiring my package with a grin. I take a seat near her friend, who does not acknowledge me. I try my best not to acknowledge her.

Ellie, in her grace, spins the first strike with ease. But, I detect a slight panting and flushness to her cheeks. She wastes no time in contemplation, letting the second throw fly with determined resolve. I shut my eyes, and hear the tell-tale sound of perfection, along with a meowing cheer from the tabby. When I open my lids again, Ellie is smiling directly at me, knowing my night's fate is pretty much sealed.

Then, I turn to monotheistic bargaining. I've been good, God. My friend. My dearest bud. I know I haven't been a prayer kind of guy, but I can change. I swear. You're a guy. You know what this would mean to me. And If I get it. It'd be so sweet! I'll atone for the tons of pre-marital sex I'll be having later, I promise. Damn. Maybe I should be praying to the devil. I stop praying. This is fate. Ellie is holding the fate of my balls in her feminine paws, exactly like she is holding the bowling ball in her feminine paws. It is not a very good metaphor.

She swings. The ball glides. The ball spins. No. Yes. Yes. Please. The ball smashes the center, the direct center of the pins. She cringes and hopes, the pins split and fall, leaving four pins standing on either side, then a spinning pin takes out the 4. The commotion dies down, the 2 glancing off the 6, making the 6 stumble then return to place. XX7! My eyes bulge and I lift out of the chair, making my way to the lane, stepping up with a mocking paw outstretched. I'm probably grinning so...

"Damn it! Shit! What the fuck?" Ellie screams.

"You were SO close! I was truly pulling for you!" She slaps away my welcoming paw.

"Alright, double or nothing!" She whispers harshly.

"We've already been through this, my dear. Double or nothing indicates that..."

"New BET!" She shakes her head. "I can't believe you fucking got so lucky! Alright." Her fingers twirl slowly in the forced air vent on the ball return, and she looks into my eyes with a smile. "Here's the deal, you son of a bitch." She leans in close, whispering the words directly into my ear. Her fur feels so good against my cheek my cock surges even harder in my pants. "If you win, you can come home with us tonight, alright? PLUS, I will immediately take you out back and you can fuck the shit out of me, alright?" My tail is uncontrollably wagging now. I feel like I'll be hovering any second, the speed it's moving. What a lovely day to be alive. "But, if I win. I will be the one fucking your ass, right outside that emergency exit, alright?." She pulls away, clicking her teeth by my forehead. We have just taken things to a scary new level. "Don't accept just yet, I want to show you just what you would be dealing with."

"Christy!" Ellie exclaims affectionately. She walks over to the sky-blue bench with a twinkle from the florescent lights in her eye.

Ellie leans into Christy's large silky ears and whispers. The cat's eyes open wide in shock, and she asks, "...right here? In... in front of...?" She looks up at me with confusion. Ellie leans over again and whispers, this time the pink tip of her tongue licks the vulnerable outside edge of the cat's ear. The shiver is loud enough for me to hear. "But, there's people everywhere... I..."

Ellie somewhat ignores her partner and motions for me to come sit down on her opposite side. I oblige her request, still definitely thinking about the consequences of accepting this bet. When I sit, Ellie whispers something barely audible to her tabby cat. She then turns to me and asks, "Can you cross your legs, please, Al?"

I look at her with the same confusion the kitten had given me only a few seconds before, but I do as I'm told. I watch Christy hesitate, then grab the zipper of Ellie's bowling khakis. With a flick of her fingers, that button on the top becomes undone, and she reaches her paw inside with a deep sigh. What she has a difficult time pulling out from behind the bowling shirt is something I would have never expected. Not only is this thick, pointed thing a cock, but it is the largest foxhood I have ever seen. There's no need to pull mine out and see if I measure up. I most definitely do not. Maybe she has Great Dane in her blood somewhere; it is impressive. And it most definitely does strike me with an irrational fear.

It takes me a moment to notice, but Ellie is staring right at me with a smile. I suddenly realize that I am the second wall in this makeshift huddle of privacy, and lift my right arm up to rest against my thigh. When I look back, the kitty has her lips wrapped around the thickness of her "friend's" cock. And it is a thick, thickness. Her lips are locked in a yawning position and she can barely have a third of the length in her mouth before she has to stop. Guaranteed, if I'm seven inches on a very good day (like at this exact moment), she has got to be double that. And the knot peaking out of her underwear, is just ungodly big and imposing, not that anyone but a horse is ever sinking far enough down for that to be a worry. It's not impossibly large, or out of the realms of the fantastical, but it certainly had me hard as a rock. And the treatment it was receiving only made it worse.

I could hear the next whispered command. "Faster." Ellie said. Not a second later, both of Christy's striped orange paws were wrapped around the sections that she could not stimulate with her tongue. Their breasts were in a fight for space in that huddled pose, and Christy's cheek was rubbing fiercely against the vixen's white chest with every bobbing motion. Ellie moans, gripping her own thick knot, creating a tower of paws capped by the cat's overstretched mouth. And there I am, a few inches away, only being able to watch. If only I had the balls to whip myself out, this would be the hottest thing I've ever seen. It doesn't matter. It's still the hottest blowjob I've ever seen. I have to make a conscious effort not to rub my aching cock through my slacks; I could cum in a few seconds.

Christy never seems to pause for air, the entrance to her throat is bulging on the downstrokes. Ellie warns, "Keep going, here it comes kitty." Her legs shake and she squeezes her knot hard. The feline's paws milk the veiny red length, unable to encircle it. I can't see anything but the pulse, the small vibrations, but from the rhythmic clenching and unclenching of her bared teeth, I know Ellie is cumming. Christy's eyes bulge, and I see her neck muscles tensing and relaxing. The feline cheeks puff outwards like a rapidly filling balloon, but all I am treated to, is a small trickle of white running along the knuckles of her left paw. She swallows and swallows, downing the thick fluid, never stopping for the entire show; almost a full minute. When the vixen calms, she rips the feline from her dick by the scruff of the neck and gives her a deep, long kiss. Her slowly shrinking member is dripping the remains of saliva and cum onto the kitty's paws.

"The best, as always, kitten." Ellie says when they come up for air. Christy is panting hard, her tongue fluttering in that specially excited feline way.

Christy whispers, "I think I came from sucking you." But, I am aroused enough for my ears to pick up every single husky sound. My belt buckle and my penis are having a mighty struggle, it feels like metal on metal.

"Why don't you get cleaned up, kitty? We'll talk later, okay?" Ellie kisses the tabby cat again, nibbling her bottom lip like an expert. The kitten purrs from somewhere deep inside, and winks at her lover. She glances at me once, with serious eyes, territorial. I bite my lip as she aids Ellie in returning her prized foxiness back into it's material prison, before the kitten makes her way to the restroom.

Ellie turns to me and sighs, her breast heavy against the black of her bowling shirt. "Well, that was relaxing." She grins. "A little more than you bargained for?"

I smile smugly. "That's not even a fair competition, hoss."

"It's alright. You don't have to accept. We already know who's more of man here, right?"

Damn this competition. Damn her insinuation. This is the fate of my own ass we're talking about. And not that I don't like the looks of that thing, but... I fear for my sphincter, seriously. Damn. "Alright, I'll accept. But with one extra condition." I held up a finger. "If I have to fear for my ass, then you do too. If you lose, we're outside immediately and I am fucking your ass. No more bets. And later tonight, I better be celebrating in your friends ass as well!"

"Two for one, huh?" Ellie says, thinking. "I'm sure she'll forgive me by the end of the week. And I can't resist a bowler with a few kinks in him." We shake paws.

"Want me to set the pace again?" I ask, standing up and adjusting myself.

"Sure." She looks over her shoulder, then lifts to her feet. Suddenly, her smooth black lips are pressed to mine, her fingers gripping the underside of both my ears. When I try to reciprocate, she pulls away quickly. "I love watching your form. The way you..." She shivers, and her competitive facade breaks, if only for a few seconds. "No man has ever excited me so much without even trying."

I look into her eyes dreamily. "I could watch you bowl all night." She swallows. I swallow. Then, we sheepishly avert our eyes.

I return, lifting "hammer-on" and striding to the lane. The numbers reset on the 10 frame screen, and the lane lights again, a perfect yellow lamp. The wooden boards are glossed and reflect a hazy image of the white army of ten. I look over my shoulder, and Ellie is staring with her eyes half-closed from the bench.

The game is easy after that exchange. I am certainly not relaxed, and my form is not at the height of it's perfection, but I manage. Ellie, however, has lost some of the charge, that electricity of her perfect swing, and she is cursing. Her legs are not as stable, even with her much more relaxed aim. It is a battle that she is progressively losing. By the fifth frame, I am looking at my first spare attempt, an easy one, a single pin on the left side. But, by this point, she is seething with anger, having thrown only one strike.

We continue, and frame by frame, her anger doubles. She leaves nine standing again after the first roll in the seventh. Another nine in the eight. She is easily picking up spares, but she is trailing so far behind that when I strike again on the ninth frame, I almost regret the inevitable reality. Almost. Most, of my lower half is primed and ready. Especially the bulging khakis screaming in agony.

She computes the simple mathematics in her head. Even if I zero the last frame, there is no way she could win. My smile turns her stomach into knots.

"We'll be right back, Christy." She says to the feline at her side, reaching into her back pocket. "Can you grab me a Coke from the shack?" A flash of green is exchanged, and Ellie gives the tabby cat no further explanation.

Ellie grabs a small bottle from her bowling bag and nods to me. "Lets go."

We make our way to the emergency exit, greeted by a row of three smokers on the outside step. The side of the building is crudely lit, situated between a wooden fence and a sleazy biker bar. We tiptoe around dirt-swirled puddles and scattered piles of wet leaves along the gravel access route. Ellie does not look at me as we round the corner to a paved portion between the bowling alley and a brick wall of city housing. Above us power lines and wires hang between the dirty buildings, grimy windows visible on the second floor of apartments. The alley is not wide enough for car travel, garbage cans and piles of wooden skids and boxes litter each side.

Ellie turns, giving a look somewhere between amusement and anger. "Oil yourself up, you bastard." She throws me the small bottle in her paw. It is a small bottle of ball wax, to give that professional shine and slickness. I can't help, but chuckle. I have always wanted to do this.

But, I throw it back to her, always the competitive tease. "You might want to do it yourself, 'cause the winner sure as hell ain't going to."

"Damn you." She is unbuttoning her khakis, and I can clearly see that she has been anticipating this moment a little more than she may have let on. The ten pin in her pants is revealed, just as hard as before. I loosen my belt and give her access to my cock, it springs out of my boxer-briefs, already a deep shade of red, almost purple at the tip. She unscrews the glass bottle, then applies a liberal amount to my shaft. Her paw grips my curved poker, and rubs the slick lubrication from my engorged knot, to the pointed tip. She can't hold back a moan. When I am slick and pulsating, she turns around and pushes her pants and panties to her thighs. Her wet finger dips methodically into her tailhole, leaving it moist and shiny. She wipes the excess on the inside of her pocket, then places both hands on the brick wall of the bowling alley. "Alright, get it over with."

"Don't act like you're not enjoying this, Ellie, I can clearly see you are." For a moment, I admire the curve of her ass, the shapely orange fur meeting white, outlining her pussy so beautifully. It's hard as hell, but I resist the urge to take her from behind. "Turn the hell around."

"I thought the deal was fucking my ass." She asked, looking slightly dejected at my response.

I let my slick member rub up against her hole, leaning over her back. "Oh, I'm still going to fuck your ass. But, I wanna see every second of it written on your face, my dear." I grip her by the hips and turn her around. Luckily, there is a pile of wooden boxes near, and I am able to lift her onto a packaging frame at thigh level. The wooden contraption creaks with her weight, and her shoulders fall against the brown brick wall. Her bright red cock is fully out, proudly standing up to her chest. I lick my lips, loving the scene, like something out of the smuttiest fantasies in the deepest recesses of my brain. A rutting, dirty, ass fuck. "Unbutton that shirt, I want to see those fucking tits, Ellie." I kick away a bottle cap stuck to my foot.

She obliges my request, unbuttoning from top to bottom and letting the massive jugs hang loose. It was hard to tell earlier, but the thick black material had been hiding her completely unsupported chest. Her nipples were erect and pink, small protrusions from a larger areola. I attack the left nipple with the tip of my teeth, hearing her squeal. The right receives a long swirling lick, which makes her hum with sensation. I'm so excited, I'm drooling a bit on her stomach, my tongue lolling from my mouth.

And that's when the other reality almost slaps me in the face. "God damn. Take a look at that thing! It's massive! Gotta be two times the size of mine completely." I patronize her situation. She murrs to the feeling of my hot cock on her sensitive areas. I slide it along the entire length of her vaginal slit, then stop at my prize. Her monster of a cock twitches with the sensation. So surreal. There are no testicles at the bottom of it, only her pussy, and the tiny nub of a clit at the top. "Just think of what would be happening if I had lost that game. I bet you would've loved it."

I keep my seven inch pride poised at her puckered opening, letting my tip rub deliciously just on the outside. We smell like fresh bowling shoes, pine, and wet fur. It is a pleasant mixture of gritty mud and sex. She lets a small moan accidentally escape from her muzzle and while staring at her excellent naked form, I grip her red dick in my fingers. Her eyes open wide as I explore her male half and feel the fucking ridiculous knot popping out of her white sheath. I know my knot isn't even the thickness of her shaft. I don't ask her if she's ready.

I grip her even harder in my paws with a smile and mercilessly shove my hard cock into her depths with a stab. She squeals and I shove in deeper on a second thrust. Her ass is so tight it grips every millimeter of my burning dick. But, I hilt to my knot with only a few more greasy motions. I can't tell if she's loving it or hating it, but her face is grimacing, her teeth bared and she is moaning hard. I definitely want to rub it in, make her truly know who is the champion of the night, but with my balls churning with my wolf juice, I just shut up and fuck her.

Her cock may be hard as a rock, but is not immobile, and I abuse it as much as possible as I pummel her moist second tunnel. It bounces when I slam her hips, like a fucking red bowling pin on a spring. Sometimes I hilt inside her, watching her shake as I give her cock a few long strokes. I am absolutely loving it. Screw modesty or self-control, I want my first time with a herm to be everything I can imagine. I even pause to watch her melt as I bend her cock and give the tip a long lick. From her immediate reaction, which is half a scream, half a gurgle, I can tell I'm not the only one enjoying myself. When I pick up the tempo again, just gripping her dick for leverage and fucking the shit out of her, I can hear her moaning my name under her breath.

And that is it. I angle her down on that wooden box, and just let her have it. I don't know how I was able to hold out this long, but there was no restraint anymore, only my flaming red cock deep in her ass. With one long thrust I know it is coming, and I penetrate as far as I can. I reel and feel the world slightly spinning as my legs shake. My balls seize upward and those lovely muscles begin to contract. I cannot control my howling. I am coming deep inside her, jet after jet is splashing her anal walls. I grab the red cock in front of me, holding on as if my life depended on it. As I'm making my steady decline and juice is dripping from my balls, I feel that monstrous fox meat jerk. I almost come again in sympathy when that thing goes off like a firehose. Globs of white come raining down upon her own face and chest. I angle it upwards, enjoying the sucking contractions on my own dick as Ellie covers herself in her own spunk, her open maw getting plastered multiple times by her seed. The shower leaves the vixen drained and oozing. She is still moaning and bucking even when nothing is left to shoot, the brick wall behind her splattered with several dripping puddles.

Ellie sighs, making the box creak in her afterglow. "Damn, I guess you're not just good at bowling, that was amazing."

I don't respond. There's no need to respond. I realize my cock is most definitely tied. I lean forward and kiss her deeply, tasting some of her seed on her lips. She is breathing deeply, panting like I am through my nose, and we break the kiss.

"I... I think I may be falling for you, Ellie." I say then cringe, realizing the cheese in my statement.

She reaches upward and licks from the tip of my black nose all the way down the top of my snout, then kisses me between the eyes. I like the attention. "We'll see what happens, Al."

---

Twenty minutes later, we're back inside, dusting ourselves off. Luckily, I had been carrying the ball rag in my back pocket, or Ellie would have looked like she fell in a vat of maple syrup. At least now she only appears "well-fucked" to the well-trained eye, not "degraded and exploited" like a porn star. Not that that's a bad thing most of the time, just not in a high-class establishment such as a bowling alley.

Christy is obviously confused, sad, and holding a Coke. Ellie takes the Coke without a word, and downs about half of it through the straw. When she is panting and finished, she wipes the corner of her muzzle. With a fake confidence, she states her purpose. "Christy. This is Al. Al is going to be staying over tonight. I sort of lost a bet." Ellie bites her lip, awaiting the tabby's response.

The tabby cat glances at me one more time with those steel eyes. She taps her foot, folding her arms. "He's not very attractive, Ellie. Why him?"

What a bitch! I'm just a little pudgy, damnit. Ellie grabs my belly with her paw. So, it's all a joke on the wolf now. "Just look at this!" Ellie says while jiggling my fat. Excellent.

"Look at this. This belly is a sign of a true athlete. He's been bowling since he was born, I bet. Eating nacho dip, cheeseburgers, drinking Coke and taking heart medication. All to create that perfect form. The most elegant display of repetitive motion." She pauses. "Beneath that pudgy exterior is the essence of the most animalistic, instinctual male impulse. He is fat, coarse, powerful, and filled with beer. He is a bowler!"

I feel a tingle of pride in my arteries.

Ellie sighs, leaning over to the confused cat. "He's also a really nice fuck."

Christy looked at Ellie, tilting her head. She smiled wide. "Well, why didn't you say so?"

The two girls kiss and giggle. And it's my turn to look confused. The scoreboard is flashing purple with our incomplete game. I walk over to the computer and a button press changes the screen to a clear blue. I pick up the hammer, and contemplate fate for a moment. Maybe it's only fair I give her another shot. Maybe I'm insane. Maybe I'm falling in love with a hermaphrodite.

Whatever the inexplicable reason, I toss the ball down the lane with a concrete mission for the throw. It slams the center pin dead-on and the pins fall in that familiar wave-like pattern. When the white explosion clears, the 7 and the 10 are left rising from the ashes.

Both girls are watching curiously.

"Alright, how about one last bet?" I ask, with a grin towards Ellie. She smiles and walks onto the lane. "I'll give you one chance. You don't lose anything if you miss, but just in the sake of being fair. You hit that split, and you can have the honor of fucking my ass tonight."

Ellie lifts her ball from the rails. "You sure?" Her teeth are white, the fur around her cheeks as puffy as ever.

I bow and relinquish the lane to her with a gentlemanly flourish. When I turn to watch, the tabby cat walks up behind me, wrapping her arms around my chest. Her chin rests against my shoulder, an inch beneath my ears. She purrs and I can feel it in my bones. "You're going to love it." She states.

Ellie lets the purple sparkle fly from her fingers, her pose again entreating God's help. I close my eyes and hear the ball gliding down the hardwood. It sizzles with spin at about two-thirds distance. A feline, smelling of cola and whiskers, licks the side of my neck. I listen for the tell-tale sound; I can sense the ball is in range, scraping.

Ting.

Shloop.

Ting.

---Comments? Praise? Constructive Criticism? I love 'em all---