Straight Daddy Blackmail
Nicky went to hang out with his friend Jake...but what he did find hanging out...well, that's the stuff memories are made of.
Hehhey, folks!
Something I whipped up, really been writing too little recently, it's starting to ooze out of me, seriously...I had to...hmm..unload. *chuckle* Do enjoy, and tell me what you think!
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Something from the old 80's...
It was a really hot day, when I parked my car outside Bert's Kwik-Garage and stepped out, squinting in the sunlight before I was properly in the shade of the building. The yard was a mess, full of old tires, car batteries, rusting hulks, jerry cans...you name it...the exterior wasn't exactly the best kind of advertisement for this business.
I could heard clanging sounds from the inside, though, making my ears perk at the noise, and my tail flip. I walked over through the big doors into the garage itself, the high space that smelled of oil and...stuff...I almost stepped on a dirty rag on my way, too, and wrinkled my nose. My shoes were almost new, anyway, and pearly white, pretty Nikes sneakers.
"Hello!"
The noises were coming from underneath a Ford parked inside the garage, with the hood ups, parts littered on a piece of dirty cardboard in the front of it. An old lamp hung over it to give whoever was working on the car some light. It was pleasantly cool in there, at least, but it made my shirt glue to my back. My own car didn't have anything as fancy as air conditioning, like those new cars.
"Hello!" I called out again. "Jake?"
The metallic noises ended, followed by some grunting, before there was a clang on the ladder that one used to get up and down the pit under the car. While I watched, eventually some tall ears and a muzzle appeared, but my own ears flopped a little when I came to the realization that they didn't belong to the fur I had expected.
"Nicky?"
The drawling voice belonged to Robert, Jake's dad. The Rottweiler gave me a mostly disinterested look, appearing hot and bothered by it because his tongue was lolling out of his muzzle and he was panting a bit...can't imagine how uncomfortable it was down in that pit, doing car stuff. He wore some dirty coveralls and his paws were dirty, too, and as he got out, he brushed them onto his knees.
"Uhh...Mister Rosen," I scratched the back of my neck, "was looking for Jake, thought he'd be here."
"Jake ain't here," the Rottweiler rumbled in reply, looking at me, standing there by the car, not looking very pleased with the interruption, "he's gone helping out his ma with the shopping."
Oh maan...my friend had been reduced to a pack mule, just when we could've gone out, smoke some, and talk shit while sitting on the hood of my car and complain about the heat.
"Oh...oh..." I breathed, "well, sorry about that, I guess I'll just..."
I'd just turned around to stomp back over to my car when he coughed.
"Nicky!"
I turned my head to look at him over my shoulder and saw that the grizzled Rottweiler was looking back to me, with a bit of a scowl.
"How about you help me out with something first, since that good for nothing son of mine isn't here eh?" the Rottweiler grumbled.
My tail jumped a little, but I didn't really react otherwise. Maybe he really needed some help.
"Uh...yeah, I guess..."
"Come on, let's go to the back, it won't take long."
"Uh, sure, sir..." I said, not really sure how this whole polite thing worked, especially in the workplace. I did see him often enough at Jake's home, usually sitting in front of TV and drinking beer while watching something stupid like Matlock.
He pulled out some keys and opened a padlock on a metal door that led into a small room which soon was lit when he hit a switch and a bulb came up on the ceiling. There were shelves on both walls and they were packed with power tools and cans of car stuff and something I wasn't too sure of. Cars weren't really my thing...that was more in Jake's territory, I guess, and his dad's.
"Gotta keep all the good stuff packed here," Jake's dad grunted, "otherwise they'd steal every fucking thing."
He waved his paw and sounded angry, and scratched the mound of his gut while snorting to himself.
"Uh, I suppose...if it's expensive..." I said, not sure what he was going on about, "I suppose tools are expensive..."
"They goddamn fucking are," the Rottweiler grunted.
I felt a bit shocked - I knew Jake used bad language but hearing someone's dad use it...that was a bit weird, I thought.
"So... what kind of help did you need, sir?" I asked, feeling a bit confused about this whole situation as a whole.
I'll never forget how loud that sound was in that small room...the zipper on his coveralls, pulled down...the sides tugged on a little...and some dirty old boxers being stuffed down into the legs of the coveralls while...while something huge and pink flopped out.
He stood in front of the doorway...I faced him...he grabbed that slab of canine meat and gave it a stroke, his musclegut spilling out of the now open coveralls, showing a taut sleeveless white T-shirt over it.
Good God.
"I'll whip ye ass if you try to do any goddamn faggot stuff with my son, Nicky," told me the guy who was stroking himself off in front of me.
My eyes probably couldn't have been bigger, staring at the sight of my friend's dad acting like this...
...
"And don't you dare to say you aint', because I know about you, fox," he grunted, still staring at me rudely while jacking off.
"S-sir..." I almost whimpered.
"So we'll make a deal, faggot," my friend's dad said, "you keep yer dirty paws off my son and I'll let you keep coming over to our house...and you'll also take care of this..."
He grabbed the base of his now glistening shaft and pushed down on it, to make his cock stand out straight in front of him..so big and...knotty...
"B-but...but..."
"How of it, foxy boy?"
I wanted to complain that I wasn't a boy...I'd turned 18 in May...I wanted to tell him I wasn't anyone's boy...that I couldn't be blackmailed just like that, even if I happened to be a fag and with hots for the Rottweiler's All-American sportsman son...and that it seemed that the daddy Rottweiler read me like an open book while my friend Jake had no idea what was going on.
I wanted to tell him that this was probably all sorts of illegal and that you'd probably go to hell for it...the Rosens did go to the same church as we did, every Sunday...but on that afternoon in that dank-smelling storage room, my young mind had other concerns.
"Uhh...Mr Rosen..." I mumbled.
That goddamn bastard grabbed a folded piece of cardboard from the nearby shelf and dropped it down onto the concrete floor in front of him and pointed at it with the fingers of the paw not holding a big cock.
"How about it, kid?"
Blackmail...blackmail...fucking blackmail...I'm sure there were laws against something like this nowadays...but back then...back then I didn't have any choice but to kneel on that dirty cardboard he'd been kind enough to put onto the floor to prevent my neat jeans from getting totally ruined - they were stained afterwards, of course, but...soon I had other concerns, such as the fact that his dick was hovering in the air only inches from my nose and putting out enough of daddy Rottweiler musk that it made my own trapped cock leak out a stream of pre-cum down my leg.
"Just do whatever you do with it, the missus never does so whatever you do will do, kid," he ruffled my head furs with that dirty, metal-scented paw, making me whimper and swallow some of the copious drool from my maw.
He didn't have patience...must've been so long since he did anything like this...he just poked the tip against my lips...God how it was hot, how hot and wet it was touching my muzzle...my first ever cock besides my own (and my back wasn't stretchy enough anymore at that point...)
Oh, God.
If I'd been a fag in my mind for years before that, getting Mister Rosen's cock in my muzzle really sealed the deal. Sure it tasted a bit unsavory after being stuck on his coveralls all day, in sweat and whatever funk, and yeah, I gagged because he was too enthusiastic and just stuck it all in there until that tennis ball of a knot almost choked me - after his cock choked me in my throat and made me gag and drool over my chin - but there we go.
He didn't say anything. Somehow you'd expect him to speak all sorts of dirty things while muzzle-fucking a teenaged fox but no, he was really quiet, except for grunting and snorting and just sounding like he was having a good time...one paw on my head, the other grabbing an edge of that nearby shelf, for balance, while he kept thrusting like a piston into my muzzle.
Goddamn fucking closet daddy dog didn't have much of stamina, and maybe that was me, or maybe it was just him being on a hair trigger in general, but he only huffed and puffed for what could've only been a few minutes before he stuffed himself into me and let his dirty balls unload in my muzzle and my throat. I coughed and ended up splattering a lot of the stuff over his coveralls, and I looked up to him guiltily, eyes tearing up from my earlier gag attacks...I must've looked like as much of as mess I felt, physically and mentally...
...he was grinning.
"I'll give ye a smoke to get that stench off yerself," he said, stuffing himself into his coveralls again...pink disappearing into the blue cloth before he pulled on his zipper. "And nawt a word to anyone, right, or yet tailchasing's known to everyone."
One particularly foxy part of my brain told me that I could tell him that I could tell everyone about him fooling around with a high school kid, too, but...I didn't. I knew that he knew. He knew that we were both blackmailing each other now...and just how high the ransom would grow...
...well...wouldn't you want to know?
Fox, 41 years old
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