Typical Friday
Well, I should explain the inspiration for this story. A friend and I were joking around and he mentioned nostril fucking and I said to myself "You know, I've never even thought of that. I should write a story about it." And lo and behold, I did! Not meant to get anyone off, but if you want to, more power to ya, man ;) Disclaimer stuff and all that. Male male sex...be over 18...don't wanna mess ya up. Enjoy :)
Typical Friday
by Roofus
Man, I love Friday. Not only is it the first day of my weekend, but it's payday as well. OK, granted, it's a little annoying that I have to commute to the city to pick up my check on my day off, but I don't let that get me down.
And that's what I'm doing now, actually--just off the bus and walking over piss-soaked sidewalks and garbage-filled gutters. I keep my hood pulled way down, hoping only the tip of my nose is visible, and shuffle quickly, trying to blend in with the vagabond residents of the neighborhood. Not that I really care if I'm seen. I just don't want to be recognized. Hell, if walking down the street in high heels, a purple tutu and a sparkling tiera was guaranteed to keep me anonymous, I'd be strutting some ruby red stilletos right now.
Almost there. As expected, Jimmy's out front waiting to cut me off at the pass. Little bastard. I've gotta get Pete to teach him some respect for the talent.
I try to sneak past him but, of course, he recognizes me.
"Hey...Josh...oh, man...I need some bad..."
He reaches out and tries to grab my jacket. I swat his paw away and growl loudly, shoving my way past him and through the door.
"Get the hell outta here, Jimmy"
"Please man..have a heart...just a quicky...will only take a minute."
"Fucking wait until Monday like everyone else! Pete!"
The tiger turns his head as I call and saunters over, as intimidating in bearing as he is in build. I see Josh shrink back in the corner of my eye.
"Can you take care of this please, Pete? This is happening every fucking Friday."
"Sure thing, Josh. Sorry about that."
I nod, mutter a thanks, and continue on towards the office door, emblazened with the words "Big Branson, your friendly neighborhood apothecary."
I walk inside and immediately my nostrils are filled with the smells of smoke and sex. Nothing new there, though I'm a little surprised to not see one of his girls below the desk pleasuring the massive bear as he lounges back in his chair. He sucks on his stogie, eyeing me in friendly challenge before blowing the smoke in my direction. "Heya, wolf. Here for your check, I take it," he bellows in his characteristicly hoarse baritone.
I exaggerate my cough as my eyes roll backward. "Good god, you know I hate that shit. And why else would I come back to this shithouse on a Friday?" I shoot him a winning smile and prop myself on the back of the chair opposite him.
"Awww...no love for the hand that feeds you?"
"I could feed myself just fine, thanks. This is just...an arrangement of mutual convenience."
"Fair enough. I'm not gonna complain so long as you keep coming every Monday." He chuckles and reaches into the drawer for my check, obviously pleased by his awkward pun.
"Hardy har." I grin a little despite myself and grab the check, stuffing it in my pocket. "Oh, by the way. I think it might be time to cut Jimmy back. He can't seem to make the weekend."
The bear grunts and sits forward, leaving the cigar between his teeth as he speaks. "Well, you do have a unique blend. None of the other guys seems to take the edge off for your clients. I almost feel sorry for the loser."
I sigh and turn around, making my way back out to the "fresh air" in the hall. "Almost, huh? What, no love for the hand that feeds you?" Snorting sarcastically, I close the door behind me.
Well, I guess it's time I explain a few things. As you've probably figured out, I have sex with people for money. A lot of money, as a matter of fact. Am I that good? I wish I could say yes, but that's not it at all. For awhile I thought it was, though. I'd have sex with someone and they'd be back again a day or two later practically knocking down my door to get at me, day after day, and the more I fucked 'em, the more they seemed to need it, like it was a drug...like it was addictive.
Turns out, it was. I know it sounds crazy, but apparently I'm not even the only one. Mr. Branson, it seems, was making quite a living whoring out his team of "shot jocks" before I'd even started shooting to National Geographics in the upstairs bathroom.
I know what you're probably thinking, and, no, it doesn't work on me, thank god. At least my own doesn't. If it had, I'd probably be spending every day with my ass over head trying to churn out every drop of pearly poison my balls could make. I have a particularly potent "blend."
And to answer your next question, the stuff's most effective straight out of the tap, so to speak. You can freeze it and still get a fix, but I'm told its just not the same. And, hey, I'm not complaining. Big Bear keeps my appointments, gives me protection...I just show up and get blowjobs. Not a bad gig, if I say so myself.
I just wish this place was in a better neighborhood.
Pulling my hood back up over my ears, I hunch forward and slip out the front door, watching my paws as I pass over cement mottled with grunge, skirting barrows of frayed cloth hiding sleeping bums. I stand at the street corner and wait until the 46 arrives. Settling into a seat near the back, I drop my guard along with my hood and stare out the window.
For all the lift I get from the mad money stashed in my pocket, this trip always threatens to bring me down. Just looking at all the poor bastards out there, struggling to make ends meet, no money to rent a roof or buy some clothes for their pups, let alone to pay a doctor to cure whatever nastiness they must be catching from all this...sickness.
I know, magnanimous thoughts for a whore, huh? Well, if I had it my way, everyone would get paid for their unique talents. Am I supposed to feel guilty for making the most of mine?
I stare into the sky for the rest of the trip, watching fallow clouds float above the tops of buildings like sea foam.
I finally arrive and step out in front of an enormous warehouse. Walking around to the side, I ring the doorbell and call out "It's me, Gunner!"
A scuffling sound behind the door is soon followed by the ringing of chains and grinding of gears as the cargo door slowly rises. I duck under and blink blindly into the darkness, barely seeing the outline of my friend as he lowers the door ponderously back to the ground. My eyes finally adjust to the lower light and I pad over to the dragon, smiling broadly with arms outstretched and hugging his serpentine neck.
"And how's my favorite dirt worm doing?"
"Must you really condescend, Josh? I know it's the only way you can show affection anymore, but you should try to work on other ways. And I'm doing well, thank you for asking."
I bristle a bit at the admonition but a flash of his toothy grin as he slinks over to his bed and all is forgiven. He's right, of course. Bastard.
I follow and climb up beside him, feeling like a stuffed toy in a monster's cradle. A sexy monster, mind you. He curls his body around me and I murr quietly at the feel of his scales sliding over my body, sensing the strength in the coiled muscles beneath. His nose swivels level with my crotch and I look down into his eyes, gently stroking his barbels as they wrap around me and fumble with my clothing teasingly.
"Losing patience in your old age, I see?" I chuckle as I pull the hoodie over my head, revealing my white-furred chest and abs. He immediately starts snuffling against my belly, eliciting a giggle as I push my way out of my baggy pants and kick them to the side, freeing my sheath to the open air. He sniffs at it in mock curiosity, his breath warm and moist as it cascades over my crotch. I blush as my tail starts to wag.
It always amazes me how he makes me feel like a pup, even after all these years--even after all that's happened. It's part of what I cherish about these visits. It's like reclaiming an innocence lost, as messed up as that may sound.
His tongue slips out from between his lips, curling around my balls, then pressing over my swelling package. As soon as my cocktip meets the air, his dextrous muscle wraps around it--slick, hot and amazingly nimble. He slides the tip down into my furry casing, coaxing my meat out into the hot confines of his muzzle as he presses his lips against my body--cock, balls and shaft all disappearing from view.
"Ooooh, Gunner..." I groan, petting the sides of his muzzle encouragingly. I feel his paws wrap around me, lifting me off the bed as he rears up and suckles greedily on my shaft, holding me in his hands like a doll. I close my eyes and surrender myself to his strength and talent.
His enormous, warm muzzle, combined with a tongue slick as velvet and agile as a paw, soon has me rock hard and throbbing. One unfortunate side-effect of my occupation is that I'm trained to cum quickly, and it's not long before I begin to feel my balls pull up and the tension build deep in my gut.
"Gunner...I'm getting close..." I gasp between pleasured convulsions.
His ears perk at the words, pulling his muzzle away and lowering me back to his bed. I spread my legs to balance myself as he lowers his chin, tongue curling up under my balls and tickling my pucker as my tail slashes about behind me. Knowing what he wants, I grab my shaft and line it up with his large, flaring nostril, feeling that familiar warmth of his breath pour over me. Obviously impatient, he pulls me forward with his barbels and my cock slides in, the confines of his nasal cavity tight and warm. I begin to hump (any port in a storm, right?), my knot swelling as I fuck hard, lips curling back in a snarl. He worms his tongue inside me, working past both rings, and its more than I can take. My muscles squeeze down and I release, filling his sinuses with my narcotic seed.
I see the change the moment I cum. His pupils dilate, his tongue withdraws from my rump, and a long, staggered breathe escapes his lungs. Stumbling forward as he falls back, I catch myself on the bridge of his muzzle. I look down into his glassy eyes as they stare off into a dream world. His body seems limp, devoid of any trace of his massive power and dignity. The only movement is a slight rise and fall of his chest, warm breath still blowing across my naked fur.
I crawl down carefully and cuddle up against his scaley breast, pulling his forearm around me and holding his massive paw against my chest.
Gunner was the first guy I ever had sex with, you see. I was a young wolf, embroiled in my senior year of high school, struggling with my sexuality. He was a couselor at the local gay and lesbian center. Yeah, I know it sounds bad, but I was 18 and he was like...3,000 or something. Even if I was 70 there was going to be an age difference, so give him a break. He was sweet and sincere and kind.
He was also the first to come back needing more.
We started with blowjobs, so I didn't really notice right away. I should explain that swallowing will get you high, but its really one of the least potent ways. Up the ass or, as we later discovered, in the nose works a lot more quickly and the high is much stronger. I just limit it to BJs in my professional life for safety's sake, though what clients do with it after I've gone is their own fucking business.
Anyway, with him being so large the effects of the blowjobs were muted for awhile. He said it was amazing in a way he'd never experienced, but nothing seemed terribly out of the ordinary. We got together at least once or twice a week for months before I figured out what I was, and by then it was too late. He was hooked.
So, I come back here every week to keep him supplied. Dragons are strong, so once a week is enough, but I worry what will happen when I'm gone. Withdrawl is a bitch, I hear, and I can't stand to see him go through it, though I know we really should start weaning him off of me. It'll be better than the inevitable cold-turkey that would otherwise await him. But I'm just too selfish. I love Fridays too damn much.
I open my eyes and realize I'd fallen asleep. Gunner's massive form still surrounds me, so I carefully pry myself loose from his heavy limbs. I sit on my haunches, run my paws over the scales of his belly, and look up at his face through the dim light. His eyes are closed now and his breathing has slowed. I suspect he'll be out for the rest of the evening.
I've still got one more job to do, though. I scoot down along his body, awkwardly pawwing myself to erection again, rubbing my cock against his smooth hide as I attempt to get in the mood. Crawling over his legs, I finally reach my destination. Hugging his tail to my chest, I slowly slip my shaft into his tailvent, moaning as the leathery flesh wraps around my member. I roll my hips slowly, tenderly humping my sleeping giant, his backside easily taking my full length and knot. I try to make it slow, to draw it out longer--to enjoy the time I have inside him, but my training kicks in and I'm soon filling his backside with my cum. A visible shiver passes up through his body, his breath catching momentarily before his body settles again. Topping him off, I guess you'd say. Makes it easier for him to get through the week.
I gently withdraw and gather my clothes. Once dressed, I kiss him goodnight between the eyes and make my way outside.
The bus ride home is uneventful as usual. Bittersweet is a feeling I'm comfortable with now, and I hold it to me like a pillow. The scenery slowly changes from inner-city squallar to suburban sprawl. By the time I desembark it's nearing twilight, my shadow stretching far before me as I make my way home. I step up onto the porch and feel the walls of the townhouse surround me before I even open the door.
I let out a breath and walk into our brightly lit foyer. My mate is in the kitchen, busily cleaning. He pokes his head out from around the doorway and beams. "Hey, Josh. How was your day?"
Yeah, I know, right? God, its all I can do not to say "Honey, I'm home" when I come in. I don't put up with all this shit for money to NOT live the American dream, you know. And don't you dare judge me. We all live in contradiction. And what he don't know, won't hurt him. We always wear rubbers, afterall, for obvious reasons.
I perk my ears forward and smile back at him. "Typical Friday," I say.
"Well, that's good!" he says cheerily, coming out to give me a hug. I hug him back before sinking deep into the couch and turning on the TV.
"I was thinking maybe we could have a BBQ in the park tomorrow...maybe throw the frisbee around...invite some friends. Sound good to you?" he asks.
"Yeah, that sounds great." I smile again and lean back, letting out a satisfied sigh. Man, I love Saturdays.