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Fashion Senseless

By Luther

"They're full of holes."

"What?"

"You asked me to find a problem with the clothes you're wearing. Well I can see plenty of them from here," clarified Scottio as he so painstakingly pointed them out.

Bobert looked down at his own pants accusingly, slipped a hand into a pocket, pushed past his keys, and poked a finger through a rather glaring hole there. It wiggled back at him: the bearer of bad news. Cursed betrayer.

"You need a wardrobe that extends beyond that of a grungy drifter." The horse continued, maintaining his momentum.

"Hey! In Europe the drifter look is totally in." It was bullshit and they both knew it, but it was the otter's way of slowly relenting.

"Yeah, that might be okay for the street but what if you get invited to a benefit or some kind of function? You have nothing approaching smart casual and if you want to get anywhere in the world you have to dress like you want it."

"Alright, alright -mom." Bobert waved his hand dismissively despite the fact he was giving in.

And so the equine had won a rare battle to make the otter a presentable person . . . well at least visually. In that field you take what you can get. So between the two of them they managed to choose a place that both could agree on. Nothing fancy but at least it was a cut above the thrift store.

Sullivan's department store. The otter's eyes adjusted to the florescent lighting as bog-standard muzak paraded about in endless, flat, unassuming tones in the background. The smell of perfume was cloying with their proximity to the counters. Immediately Bobert ducked to the side to avoid them entirely, having no desire to be spritzed by an overzealous attendant who decided he could use some cologne.

He easily spied Scottio as he waved him over. The horse had abandoned his typical working apron in favor of the casual dress (free of holes, as one might note). A pair of trim jeans hugged his hips so well as to almost incite a spark of jealously from the otter and a well-cut tank top that hinted at the owner's muscle tone. Bobert grumbled, compared to Scottio he looked like a regular vagabond. The horse was already standing near the dreaded changing stalls. A couple of organized stacks of clothing sat on a bench next to him.

So, Scottio's insistence, the otter spent the next couple of minutes idly browsing the shelves, musing over what assemblage he could put together that might satisfy the horse and put an end to the whole thing. A lot of his mental capacity went to feigning interest or trying to push aside that dull and droning buzzing sound that came from between his ears -or was that just the light fixture above him? It was hard to tell.

At long last a pair of neurons decided to bump heads within his brain as something resembling an idea crept into it. He began to gather up a few things that he thought might go well together, as if it mattered, and made his way back to the booths. He stopped short of the doors to one with bundles of clothing in hand to spend a moment and look on at such an alien concept to him.

"No arguments, otter-butt. Get in there!" Scottio prodded.

The brown tip of a tail was the horse's last sight of him after a backwards-oriented display of Bobert sticking his tongue out. Now alone in the mirror-plated cubicle of vanity, the otter set down the selected stack and began to strip. It took a few minutes longer than one might expect but such was the price of making sure all was perfect. Just as the horse was checking his watch to the sound of his own sighing did the stall door fly open to reveal the newly transformed occupant.

Scottio nodded in approval as he took the time to itemize the otter's selections. A thin sweater, light grey, covered by an appropriate sport jacket: nothing flashy and it had versatility. Wow, maybe Bobert wasn't terrible at this after all. The horse's eyes continued downward where he presumed to find slacks . . . and he was technically right.

Bobert had intentionally donned a pair of pants that were obviously a size too small for him. While he could technically fit in them, they pushed the boundaries of decency as his fat round bulge pushed the boundaries of those pants. It was almost too much poured into that crotch, almost too much straining on that button, and it was just a few pounds per square inch short that saved its thread from ripping and sending it flying across the men's department.

"Problem?" a grinning otter asked as if he didn't know.

"Most of it is fine," Scottio sighed. "But maybe next time you can find something that actually fits."

"And deny the world this?" Bobert motioned downward, taking the gamble to acknowledge what he had done. "I don't see you complaining too much."

"Just -just try something else on, would you?"

What followed was a whirlwind series of outfits put together by the otter, each carefully designed to flatter himself in that certain way and leave Scottio holding his head in hands in exasperation and with own pants slowly tightening, not that he'd admit it. It was like something that belonged in a bad 80's movie fashion montage . . . only it was actually at real speed . Slightly less glamorous when you can't just cut to the next outfit and not to mention it would be adult rated. Still, the otter was fast enough to keep up the effect. With each one the horse still held out hope that he might finally get serious with the next one. However, such hope was slowly being replaced with an increasing sense of arousal. If Bobert was so perfectly willing to provide eye-candy, why would he stop him? Besides, at least the top half of the otter's choices were somewhat practical.

It was around the time that Bobert came out in a burgundy cardigan and v-neck that he noticed the horse had now taken a seat next to the still untested clothing in an attempt to hide his erection. It looked like the effort was finally having an appreciable effect. This might actually be worth having to wear a cardigan. The next outfit consisted of this amazing pair of jeans he found that almost showed off his hips as well as Scottio's. Part of him actually considered getting it once this was all done with. Out he came to show them off -and only those.

"We're here to try entire outfits, rudder-butt. That means something up top too."

"Oh, so the boys you look at in those magazines can go shirtless but I can't? I see how it is." Bobert stuck out his tongue accordingly. "And speaking of butts, while I'm out here how does mine look in these?" He turned around and gave his own a bit of a slap, the sound helped to hide the laughter he suppressed.

He was pleased to see a few shirts had taken up residence on Scottio's lap. No doubt they were a feeble attempt to hide what raged just beneath. There was certainly no need to wonder if it could have something to do with the horse's mere half-assed objection to this little show he was putting on. All this showboating was having a similar effect on the otter himself as the highlighted bulge gradually became a tent before travelling further down his leg in those purposefully revealing pants. Bobert used this to his advantage as yet another tool, figurative and literal, he could use to further tease the poor stallion.

"Bob- what? Oh come on!" exclaimed Scottio when the otter next emerged wearing a lovely scarf and jacket he had found and absolutely nothing else. "What if someone sees?!"

While it was clear what he was referring to, the equine was trying to glue his eyes north of the otter's waistline -and failing at it, if the occasional downward flicker was any indication. Scottio's head was on a swivel, scanning the area for any possible witnesses. Pushing the envelope was one thing but outright indecent exposure was another. Thankfully he had chosen a space out of the way and, for the moment, this otter viewing remained a private affair.

"What?" asked Bobert, as if he couldn't see the problem. "I found the perfect pants for this but they didn't have any in my size." It was all he could do to smother a chuckle.

So of course the natural course of action was to not wear any pants. He stood proudly, arms akimbo, his length at full attention, bringing up the huge sac that hung below it. But Bobert, seeing his friend's obvious distress, finally 'relented' and turned literal tail with mock indignation, heading back around the corner towards his changing room. Only this time the door was left open and the light from the bulb inside spilling out into the hall was the last piece of bait for the otter's trap.

Equine ears twitched and a wrinkled nose produced a snort of feigned nonchalance as Scottio waited for the door to close and the next phase of the otter's display to begin. It didn't. The horse stood, still clutching the stack of folded shirts to his crotch -which did a terrible job at hiding the obvious tent, by the way.

"Don't tell me you forgot how to close the door . . . uh, Bobert?" His tone changed as he followed and only a strange emptiness greeted the horse as he stood in the doorway. There was nobody in there. He was sure this was the room the otter had disappeared into. He cautiously stepped in. Why cautiously? He didn't exactly know, but something was amiss and this was Bobert he was dealing with, after all.

It was likely that Scottio would have checked the little hiding wedge behind the door given enough time but Bobert wasn't about to let him. With his prey standing befuddled in the room, the trap was sprung and out leapt the otter. A momentous impact sent the shirts flying out of Scottio's hands and scattering through the air and across the room. The horse himself was quickly and decidedly pressed up so playfully against the wall. That wasn't the only pressing matter, however, as he could certainly feel an object against up against his backside: hard but with just a bit of give. No need to guess there.

"I knew you wouldn't be able to resist," the assailing otter said.

"I was drawn in by the gravity of your fat ass." A weak retort as the otter's was anything but fat -but it was all he could think of in this predicament.

"Uh huh. Speaking of asses . . ."

Bobert moved in, letting a wayward hand fall aside the horse's hips as he leaned inward. Simply put: assets met ass, with Bobert's throbbing otterhood so firmly pushed against the equine's rump that Scottio could feel the heat from it soaking through.

As much as Bobert had done all that to tease the horse, to be perfectly honest the otter's little show had worked on himself just as much. So here he was, rock hard and locked in a changing stall with a cute equine fellow who prides himself on his hips and butt. Could either be asking for it more? Could you really blame either of them?

The horse felt Bobert's hands working around his waist towards the front. Impatient, Scottio reached back on his own to feel what he could of that cock, closing his eyes to picture what every ridge and vein looked like as his fingers discovered them. He felt the top button of his fly become undone by the otter's fingers and his eyes jumped open and cut down to see the thick head of his own dick looking straight up at him, defying the waistline towards freedom.

"Don't mind me, I'm just jockeying for position," the otter smiled.

"Haha so funny, Bobert. Just shut up and give it to me."

"I will, just give me a moment to mount up."

"No more horse puns."

While he was momentarily broken from his reverie, Scottio still couldn't help but bite his lip and just accept it. He needed this. Continued banter for his own pride's sake wasn't worth distracting himself one bit from this. The otter could chalk whatever he wanted as a minor victory but in the end Scottio was getting what he wanted so that was perfectly okay with him.

For the sake of ease and feasibility, Bobert directly guided Scottio by the hips towards one of the seating benches. The horse took his cue and raised a leg, putting his knee on it to brace himself as his pants finally fell down around his knees. The otter's, of course, were already off. Amazing how quickly his hands could work when they had some desirable end to move towards and Bobert certainly could see a desirable end.

Now free from any interfering material, the head of Bobert's cock was free to take its former position. A two foot long spear, the tip of which was pushed up to Scottio's ring, had made itself slick and ready with anticipation. His fiery, throbbing length demanded action bur not so powerfully that it couldn't escape one last comment from him.

"Normally I try to bring a saddle when I go horse riding but I guess I can settle for bareback."

"Oh ha ha!" Scottio mustered his most sarcastic mock laughter. "How long have you been waiting to use that one? You're just lucky you've got that dick. Now dammit, just give me-eeeeauh!"

It was right at that moment that the otter pushed in, waiting for the perfect cue to be delivered to him so he could stop the horse right in mid-sentence with the power of his cock alone. A little narcissistic? Sure was! The horse was nothing to laugh at either, as that fat otter cock slid inside and powered through a tightness that gripped both Bobert's attention and facility for wit and held them hostage. That all melted away for the time. The world might as well have been that cubicle as they didn't have the presence to be thankful nobody else was using any of them at the time or they surely would have been heard.

Further and further in the otter pushed, having stolen the equine's voice and replaced it with teeth gritting as yet always another inch poured in. Only a few exasperated gasps could sneak past the momentary stunned silence. There isn't much that can prepare you for taking twenty four solid and laboring inches, especially when they're all lead by a cockhead the size of your fist. Nor was there much that Scottio could do at the time to express what he felt other than tightly gripping the closest pair of slacks in desperation. It was a poor substitute but it was the best he could do. Bobert was about halfway in before it became almost too hard to push further.

"Dammit otter, you're too big!" the horse exclaimed. "I don't think I can -I can, yeah I can do it. I can do it! Come on!"

Unable to hold himself back anymore, Bobert withdrew a few inches, just enough to leverage another thrust forward and spread poor Scottio's cheeks apart even further. It was easier this time, the way opening gladly. The horse clenched his fist, lurched forward, and felt a sudden and odd sensation. A dull thud echoed through the room.

"The hell was that?!" exclaimed Bobert, stopping for a second, thinking it was someone knocking on the door.

"That was my damn cock hitting the side of the bench," the horse answered. It was not at all painful, but certainly something new.

Normally that would be something to laugh at if they weren't so damn horny and yet, there was a quality to the thought of a horsecock big enough to make a sound that deep as it slapped against the padded side that was sort of hot. It didn't stop Bobert in the least. The horse readjusted and braced himself for the pounding, whickering as the moments stretched onward to grip both of them, speeding to intensify the wondrous feelings, slowing to keep from cumming too soon and prolong the ride.

Scottio opened his eyes, remembering that he was, in fact, up against a mirror. Looking up, he could see his own face: smiling and lurching closer and falling back in rhythmic fashion, his hair tossing back and forth from it all. What a mess he was!

The horse's attention shifted as he felt something grip around his own shaft, steadying its previous wobbling up and down. It formed a lovely ring around his cock that slid so thankfully along his length as it pulsed on the edge of blowing, slick and smeared with need. It would seem that, among all this, the otter had the decency to provide a reach around to the needy horse. Emboldened, Scottio's hips bucked wildly, flying back and forth, pressing both onto the otter's cock and into his hand. He could feel a tension on the underside of his shaft, his crotch undergoing the telltale blissful tightening of inevitability.

These last moments were taken almost entirely into Scottio's hands as the horse rode on a fuel of adrenaline, ecstasy, and the need to get off. He seized the initiative and Bobert was literally stunned by the beautiful sudden burst of speed that milked his cock and, within moments, sent him over the edge. The otter instinctually thrust in, holding himself deep as he felt it spasm and erupt inside the horse. Just moments after, the otter's huge and flaring head sent the horse shaking into the throes of release as well.

Bobert could feel himself pumping away into the hot piece of ass in front of him, filling the slight bulge forming in Socttio's midriff. The horse himself was splattering the bench in front of him, the thick fluid splashing up onto the piles of clothes set there and running down the side. The otter's footpad betrayed him, having stepped on a slippery silk garment laying so innocently on the ground moments before. He caught himself on the handrail, bless it for being there, that saved him from tumbling backwards. It didn't stop him from reeling out of the horse at mid-orgasm with a loud popping sound. His cock wasn't finished though, and still held a not inconsiderable payload that his heavy balls forced up into the air and across the carpet.

The two were left nearly breathless as their respective highs subsided and rational minds surfaced once more. Bobert looked across the stall at the only two articles of clothing (other than their own) that had remained spotless throughout the whole ordeal. It was the one whipcord jacket that had any true merit in the otter's eyes and the one pair of jeans that looked flattering on him.

"Looks like it's been decided, then. I'll get these!" he said as he gathered them up after hastily donning his own clothes. He turned to Scottio, who was also redressing, and nodded to the collection of crumpled and cum-soaked clothes. "Now help me hide all this other stuff in the racks before someone finds this mess!"