Jumping on the Grenade
"I can't be arsed with this" I moaned, clutching my temples. "I just want to go to bed, guys!"
"Shut the fuck up, you big baby" growled Chris, who had grabbed my arm and was dragging me behind him into the hotel. Chris was eighteen stone, twenty five years old and built like a brick outhouse. He'd attempted to join the Paras and the SAS (twice), missing out each time only because of injury. He was a career soldier and proud of it, in for as long as the army would have him.
"Yeah," agreed Paul, his best friend and room mate, shoving me in the back. Paul was from Fiji, his last name almost unpronounceable and five syllables long. Like most Fijians, he was curly haired and robust, and a passionate fan of Rugby. His nose was flat and wide and slightly crooked, having been broken more than once. It made him look intimidating, though he seemed pleasant enough. His strong accent made it hard to be sure.
I tripped my way up the stairs and almost fell flat upon my face. I was still drunk enough to have no co-ordination, but I'd sobered up enough to have the painful beginnings of a glorious hangover.
"This is part of your squadron initiation, sprog" said Paul, helping me climb to my feet.
I closed my eyes and fought to control my stomach, which was trying to get out by way of my mouth. In the name of "squadron initiation", I'd been assaulted, humiliated and forced to drink all manner of horrible, horrible drinks. I hadn't wanted to go out on the town. I don't drink very often and I couldn't really afford it, but I did want to get to know my new colleagues. I really should have known better.
The last part of my hazing was something they called "Jumping on the Grenade". Somehow, I knew it wouldn't involve explosives. A visit to a whorehouse seemed like something relatively harmless after all I'd suffered through, and I could go to bed grateful that I'd never, ever have to do anything like this ever again. Chris felt moved to give me some last minute advice.
"And make sure that you don't offer to buy them a drink. They always ask for champagne. And for fucks sake, don't go down on her. That's just sick."
The room had the expectant air of a doctor's waiting room. Low, squat tables were circled by chairs that would not have looked out of place in an office. Fixed to the wall in one corner, a small colour television showed a game of football, it's commentators chattering away in German. The lighting was soft and warm, provided by table lamps that perched in the low windows like birds of prey. Behind a counter, an elderly man stroked his white moustache and flipped through a magazine.
We sat down. Almost immediately, three women joined us. A short, elfin, Asian type sat next to Paul and immediately slipped a hand into his trousers. A tall brunette slid into place beside Chris and wrapped her arms around his neck like he was something precious and rare. Although my experience in these matters consisted solely of this visit, it appeared to be a rather eclectic selection. A shadow darkened the thin cotton of my shirt, and I looked up at the third woman.
She wasn't actually a woman, though she was clearly female. I closed my eyes and shook my head to clear it, thinking that I was hallucinating. She was still there when I opened them. She was short and thin, even smaller than the Asian girl that had sat beside Paul. She had the delicate, firm body of a gymnast, and every visible inch of it was covered in dense, white fur. Her eyes were larger than they should be and a deep, intense red that glowed in the warm light. From her muzzle ("Christ, she has a muzzle," I thought) long, delicate whiskers protruded. She wore a small lilac bikini and a silver pendant around her neck. Behind her, a long, thin tail flexed back and forth.
She put her arm around my shoulders and leaped onto my lap before I could think to react, and I leaned back instinctively as she began to stroke my chest. She looked down at me and murmured something in a deep, but feminine voice. I wasn't reassured.
"P-Paul," I stammered, "What the fuck is she?"
Paul whispered something to his girl, who looked at me and giggled. He was clearly enjoying my reaction.
"She's a mousemorph, genius. And she's your girl for tonight"
They had their own name for their race, but mousemorph was one of ours that had stuck. I had never seen a mousemorph before. Almost all of them had settled in the outback of Australia, where they enjoyed a congenial relationship with the aboriginals in a landscape that resembled the world they had lost long ago. They had landed in international waters, in the middle of the pacific ocean. Their lifeboat was a large craft that held nearly a thousand mousemorphs, survivors of the demise of an even larger craft out just beyond the edge of the solar system. There were others, but they had not been so lucky. They had been ejected into the depths of space, and would probably drift forever in the eternal darkness, hibernating until the stars grew dim.
I stared at him in disbelief, causing the Asian girl to giggle once more. The mousemorph fidgeted, getting more comfortable in my lap. She was probably used to this kind of reaction. Her tail brushed the side of my leg as she positioned herself a little higher on my lap, so that she was sitting directly over my crotch. She kissed my neck and continued to stroke my chest. It gave me a slight shock to realise that she only had three fingers on each hand.
"You want me to fuck a rat?" I complained.
The whole idea felt weird.
Chris shrugged. "It's tradition! Jumping on the grenade! First time in the whorehouse, you have to screw the ugliest bitch in the place. You jump on her so your mates can have the pretty ones. Just so happens that your new friend Fuhi arrived last week, so that's who you have to go with. It's traditional!"
I scowled at each of them alternatively. "Yeah, right! I bet neither of you had to do anything like this!"
Paul looked at something behind me, and then waved to somebody near where the old man was sitting.
A woman wearing a nightgown was haranguing the old man behind the counter. I was no judge of ages, but she was at least seventy. Her make-up looked like it had been applied with a shotgun. She gave us a friendly smile and a wave, and resumed her argument without missing a beat.
"See her? I had to fuck her my first time here. So did Chris. If me and Chris can fuck that ugly old tart, you can fuck the mousey. At least yours doesn't need to move her tits out of the way before she can see her fucking pussy."
The Asian girl removed her hand from Paul's trousers, and they both stood up.
"You know what?" Said Paul, turning into angry drunk and prodding me in the chest "You're a cunt. We've put the effort in to make you part of the troop, and now you try and fuck us off? Fine, don't shag the bitch. You aren't going nowhere until we've finished, anyway."
Chris nodded his head. "She's all they have left, mate. It's her or nothing. See you in an hour, sprog. C'mon petal."
Chris and Paul left with their hookers, leaving me with mine. The mousemorph watched them ago, and then looked at me. She asked me a question, and although I didn't understand her language I understood what she had asked. The language of the mousemorphs was quiet and gentle. There were no hard edges to any of the syllables. It was a tongue for lullabies and stories whispered softly around camp-fires under the endless stars.
"Not yet." I said. She looked puzzled, but said nothing. She clicked her tongue and kissed me on the cheek. Her lips were warm and soft, and her whiskers tickled my nose. Automatically, I put my arm around her waist and she smiled at me, snuggling a little close. Her breasts squashed gently against my chest. Her body was warm and soft, yielding in the right places. I held her a little more tightly and felt the fur rubbing against the thin cotton of my shirt. I stroked her gingerly, ruffling the fur the wrong way and smoothing it back down again. It felt...OK. There was nothing particularly attractive or unattractive about the way it felt between my fingers. It was just something else that made her different.
My resolve weakened. Perhaps it was the alcohol still loitering within my veins, or perhaps it was the fading of the initial surprise. She wasn't so bad, certainly better than Miss Nineteen Fifty Eight over there by the counter. More than that, she was very attractive. She wasn't like anyone else I'd ever slept with, but who was? I was a foreigner in a foreign land. I could hardly expect everything to be the same as it was back in the UK. Feeling a little more brave, I slid my hand down and stroked the outside of her thigh, getting more and more used to the feel of fur where I normally expected to find smoothness. She laughed and stroked my neck, and the delicate touch of her hands and the feel of a female body in my arms caused the hairs on my neck to stand on end.
She detected the change in mood. I don't know if she had been watching for it, or if she could sense it or something else, but she repeated her question. This time I nodded. She gave me another peck on the cheek, climbed down from my lap and I stood up. I felt strangely light headed, as though her kisses were even more alcoholic than the Blue Steels (one part WKD, one part Bull's Blue, Three double Vodkas, sold by the pint) I'd been made to drink early in the evening. Part of it was nerves; I didn't have the faintest idea what was going to happen next, and I felt a little bit stupid. Part of it was guilty conscience; I'd been raised to be a good Christian, and although I didn't have a religious bone in my body some things had stuck. This was supposed to be Wrong, though I didn't intend to let a little thing like eternal damnation stop me from doing this. She took me firmly by the hand and led me towards the counter, saying something to the old man that made him cackle like a Salem hag while he counted my money. Luckily, the language barrier shielded my ego from whatever she said.
"What is your name?" She asked, in heavily accented English.
I didn't answer right away, too busy watching the old man to make sure he didn't take too much. I'd been warned about that already, and that was advice I intended to take.
She took me by the hand and lead me in a different direction, through a small hallway towards the stairs. Another couple were standing at the top of the stairs, and they waited for us to pass before descending. A slightly overweight man in a crumpled business suit chatted good-naturedly in German with another tall brunette. I avoided eye contact with both as I passed by, and began climbing another set of stairs. The mousemorph asked for my name again.
"John," I replied, concentrating hard to keep from stumbling on the steep, narrow staircase. We appeared to be going all the way to the top.
"My name's Fuhi!" She said, proudly.
We reached the top of the stairs. Fuhi had led me to a spacious room hacked from space in the loft. Dawn starts early in Germany, and the first rays of sunlight were already shredding the clouds and chasing drunk people to bed. The room was clean, warm and tastefully decorated. There was a large double bed covered in white cotton sheets, with hospital corners that would have passed inspection by a Major-General. The thick, beige carpet deadened the sound of my footsteps. There was a large shower at the far end of the room, next to an industrial size hair-dryer built into the wall. Only a fruit-basket full of assorted condoms on the dressing table hinted that this was anything other than an ordinary hotel room.
Fuhi turned on the lights and closed the curtains, moving briskly and efficiently as she cut about the room, preparing things to her satisfaction. I lurked beside the door, uncertain of what I was supposed to be doing. I felt big and stupid, and more than a little bit embarrassed. This was exactly how I had felt when first lost my cherry, and in a way the two situations were kind of similar. Both then and now, I was in unfamiliar territory without a map, a compass or a briefing.
Fuhi finished whatever it was she was doing and turned to me. She reached behind her back and popped the clip on her bikini. It dropped to the floor, landing upon the ground in a small pile of lilac cloth. Her panties joined them almost immediately. I looked her up and down and swallowed. She was very beautiful, naked or not. Her breasts were small and well formed, long thin nipples emerging from the short fur covering them. I hadn't noticed before, but she had a well defined four-pack stomach. The fur around her crotch was very short, the visible parts of her genitals bald and pink, not dissimilar to a human female. Her thighs were rather thick in comparison to her height, but that was hardly a flaw. Her tail was as long as her legs, resting lightly upon the floor behind her.
She walked towards me. I took a step backwards and bumped the back of my head against the door behind me. She laughed and I joined in, rubbing the back of my head. I relaxed a little, feeling some of the tension ease from my body. I hadn't realised how nervous I was until it had begun to fade.
She grabbed my shirt and gave it a tug, raising her eyebrow. I unbuttoned it quickly, and shrugged out of the sleeves. Fuhi took it from me and hung it upon a coat stand next to the door, which I hadn't noticed. The mousemorph scratched at my naked chest, scraping at the flesh with the tips of her claws. I felt a chill run up and down my back and closed my eyes. I love being scratched and always ask my girlfriends to do it for me. It's always been a turn on, and she was very, very good at it. I could quite happily have let her do it all day. I was almost purring like a kitten by the time she moved down to my stomach and unzipped my trousers.
They dropped to the floor and curled around my ankles. I stepped free, and into her arms. She wasn't as little as I had first thought, but she was still only up to my chest. Her paws crept up my back, higher and higher onto my shoulders. I put my arms around her shoulders and held her close against me. The fur tickled my chest and stomach, but in a good way. Fuhi's cheek rubbed over one of my nipples, which tingled for a brief moment like an aftershock.
She smiled and turned around, glancing over her shoulder to make sure I was following her. She sat down upon the bed and shuffled over, patting the space beside her. I took a deep breath and lay down. There wasn't much give in the springs of the mattress, but the pillows were deep enough to suffocate in.
The mousemorph let out a cute little growl and rolled on top of me. She was so light. I could have lifted her above my head very easily. She could only have weighed around a hundred pounds. My hands slipped under her arms and onto her shoulders. The tips of her claws pricked the back of my neck, her long front teeth nibbling upon the front side. The bites were interspersed with licks across the skin. Her tongue was long and thin, and left another tingle and a damp trail in it's wake. I scratched back a little and felt her shoulder blades jiggle under my palms. I could get used to this, I thought.
Fuhi worked her way down my body, kissing and caressing over the sensitive spots, her claw tips leaving my neck and moving down to my chest. Her flexible tongue orbited my navel, and my stomach muscles tightened up every time it slipped into the hollow with a faint slithering noise. I played with her ears, fingering the line of skin and fur along the outer edges of her ears. She made a vaguely approving noise, so I kept doing it. I rubbed the back of her ear with my finger and the soft, pink flesh of her inner ear with my thumb. This time I was rewarded with a soft chirruping noise, and the licking and kissing became more enthusiastic.
Her nipples poked at my thighs and then dragged towards my knees. I felt warm breath upon my crotch and looked down. I was almost fully hard already, and I'd been to busy enjoying her claws to notice. The moment her fingers closed around the base and gently pointed me at the ceiling, there was no longer any almost. My breath whizzed in my throat as she opened her mouth, drew back the foreskin and licked around the head. I wriggled my toes furiously but otherwise kept still, especially when those large front teeth dragged down the upper side. Mercifully, she knew what she was doing and turned her head slightly to the side, and my cock slipped between her thin, rubbery lips without difficulty.
Damn, she was good. The short but prominent muzzle was perfect for oral, and she took the entire length without a single pause. Her tongue was all over the shaft, from left to right and all the time underneath. Her left cheek was as hollow as a starvation victim, her right bulging slightly with the tip of my manhood. My fingers found the base of her ears, traced the tendons in her neck and onto the furry shoulders. Her tail kept waving as though trying to attract my attention, but you'd have needed a shovel to do that. I kept my eyes on hers, and those brilliant round rubies reflected my entire chest. There was just the slightest hint of white at the outer corners. Fuhi's ancestors must have been nocturnal, because they were far too large and fragile for the desert sun.
The warm, damp sleeve around my cock drew tighter, her lips pressing right against the flesh. She began to suckle upon it, bringing intense, powerful pressure that took my breath away. I squeezed her shoulders and moaned as her head rose and fell, the soft inner tissues lining her cheeks endlessly squeezing and groping at my throbbing member. Every caress of her tongue was followed by a sudden pulse of energy all the way up my spine, as though the slender muscle were electrified. The blood roared in my ears, and I had to let go of her shoulders before I squeezed too hard. Hurting her was the last thing I wanted to do, especially with those teeth.
It wasn't long before I was gasping for breath, ready to burst in more ways than one. And then she stopped. My cock was slowly pulled between her lips, removing most of the excess saliva that clung to it. The air felt so cold after the warmth of her muzzle, residual dampness chilling me still further. I propped myself on my elbows and started to protest. She giggled and said something reassuring in her native language, reaching for the bowl by the side of the bed. The plastic wrappers of the condoms rustled faintly against the glass as she rummaged around, selected one and tore away the packaging. Only having two fingers and a thumb didn't seem to be a hindrance.
Fuhi put her hand upon my stomach and held me down. I didn't try to resist, I just watched her roll the condom down over my cock. I was surprised at how red it was, the colour of sunburnt flesh. The mousemorph gave my balls a friendly squeeze and then, holding onto my elbow, lay back onto the bed. I moved on top of her, my hands above her shoulders, my hips below her thighs. Fuhi wriggled a little on the bed, making herself comfortable. When she was satisfied, she looked up at me, grinned and tapped me on the nose.
It wasn't hard to hold myself up on one arm, taking all my weight on the left. I held myself over her and followed the invisible line of symmetry that divided her in two, starting from the hollow of her throat, between her breasts and into the valleys and hills of her stomach. She had no navel there, no sign that there had ever been one. I stopped just above her sex, circled around to the inside line of her thigh and then flicked my nail away. She gasped, then wriggled a little. Impatient to proceed, she reached between my legs and held my cock between thumb and forefinger, guiding it towards her outer lips.
My cock brushed against them, then touched a little higher. I pressed forward insistently, and there was a moment of fierce resistance that suddenly melted away. The tightness around me was incredible. She arched her back and hooked her legs around my back, making it so easy to slip myself fully inside, even with the vice-like grip of her inner muscles at once pushing down and pulling me in. Her tail wrapped around my leg, her teeth snapping at my neck, more of those cute little growls as I eased the whole of my cock into her.
Fuhi's claws were dragged over my shoulders, leaving little puncture marks like printouts of Morse code. She spoke at me in 'morph, the last word trailing out into a purr of feline proportions. I felt the purr rather than heard it, and it felt good. I pulled back, slid back into her and felt the tremble as her body responded. Her thighs squeezed around my hips, tighter and tighter, as though she were trying to cut me in two.
My body rocked back and forth over, using all my weight behind each thrust. Fuhi bucked and ground against me. Her shoulders and her behind kept leaving the bed, so that only one of the two was touching it at the same time. I kept going relentlessly, never stopping or slowing or missing a beat despite the fierce, intense pleasure. My chest was getting hotter and hotter as the flesh rubbed against fur and the heat rode my blood all around my body, setting it alight.
My hands slipped on the sheet, forcing me to catch myself on my elbows. I kept going regardless, barely even noticing the change in position. I put my arms under her back and held onto her shoulders, holding on as tightly as she was and driving into her over and over again. The harder I went, the more strongly she reacted. Fuhi was a writhing, biting, wriggling, squeezing, growling, bundle of soft fur and sharp points, and she was rapidly dragging me closer and closer to filling my condom.
I tried to distract myself, running through NBC and weapon drills, football results and shades of paint in my head. Fuhi's teeth closed on my throat again, not letting me escape into mundane thoughts. My crotch was soaking wet and getting damper by the second. Finally, with deliberate, torturous lack of haste, her claws scratched down my back.
That was it. My next thrust was my last, and I couldn't have stopped myself for all the money in the world. I remained fully inside her and began to spill, filling my condom with rapid fire bursts. The muscles of her sex were squeezing and rippling, trying to draw my seed deeper inside her. I pressed my open mouth against her neck to muffle the cries of pleasure I didn't care enough to hold in. I lay like that for a few moments, getting my breath back and revelling in the post-coital tingles.
Pulling out of her again made me shudder, my cock still hypersensitive even inside it's latex hood. I sat on the edge of the bed, feeling blurry and dazed, but fantastically good too. Like being drunk, without the subtle, persistent voice nagging me to go home and sleep. Fuhi nuzzled against my back, then reached around and carefully removed the condom without spilling anything on the crumpled white sheets.
I staggered into the shower on rubber legs filled with strawberry gelatin and switched it on. The water was cold enough to make me yelp, which brought me back down with a crunch. It soon warmed up a little, and got a even hotter when Fuhi joined me. She gave me a thorough rubbing down with shower gel, from neck down to toes, and then from my shoulders down to my heels. She said something apologetic as she washed my back, which was now bleeding slightly and stinging in places. I didn't mind. I've come home with worse after a night on the tiles more than once. I repaid the favour, swishing through the dripping fur glued to her skin and darkened by the water it held.
Once refreshed, we got out of the shower. Fuhi tossed me a towel and got me to lend a hand drying off, then stepped into the closet. There was a loud whirr as the fans kicked in, and I dressed while she was drying off. I got bored of waiting and said goodbye in a voice loud enough to be heard over the fur dryer. A small, white hand poked around the door and waved, then slipped back inside. After taking a last minute inventory of personal belongings, I headed back down the stairs.
Paul and Chris were waiting for me downstairs. Paul was sprawled in one of the corner chairs, snoring peacefully. Chris was scowling and staring at the clock impatiently, but he gave me a leer when he caught sight of me.
"Have a good time, sprog? We've been waiting for you, the taxi's already been called. So, how was the mousey?"
"Fuhi?"
I didn't want to tell him too much. It was none of his damn business, but I knew he'd keep pressing me until he got some kind of answer out of me.
"Let me put it this way," I said, after a moment's thought. "If that's taking one for the team, I'd take a dozen of 'em"