Pretty Pretty Please by K.M. Hirosaki

Pretty Pretty Please

K.M. Hirosaki, Cacomistle, Contemporary, Husky, M/M

"_ Pretty Pretty Please" _

Dedicated to folks who ain't ashamed of sex.

I'm struck with the realization that I'm not drunk anymore. Oh, I'm far from sober, but I can't rightly claim to be "drunk." This is mainly a problem because I'm not in the club (and presumably not anywhere close to another drink), and because I've gotten myself into a situation I shouldn't be in.

I think. At least, it appears that way. My memory of agreeing to this is fuzzy at best.

We're in a hotel lobby, I can tell that much. "We" meaning me and this cinnamon-furred husky whose name I either don't know or just don't recall. He's at the front counter, talking to the clerk behind the desk, this vixen who keeps shooting me these looks that I'm sure she thinks I don't notice. Bitch.

I turn around and take a look out the window. We're downtown, still, and now I remember taking the cab here. Husky paid, and I'm pretty sure he's up putting the room we're about to get on his card, too. My being at least partially sober now means I should go up there and put a stop to this before it all goes through.

Right as I'm sidling up next to the husky, though, the vixen hands him his card and his ID back (I try to catch a glimpse of his name on either of them, but I'm not quick enough). As he stuffs his wallet back into his pocket, he turns to look at me, and I'm expecting this big, dumb, cocksure smile, and that's not what I get at all.

Instead, I get this really shy, faltering smile, and a look in the dog's eyes that's on the border of hopeful and desperate. Fuck. Now I really wish I'd been able to stop him.

Already I can tell he's not my type. I mean, not to sound like a prick about it, but I can just tell. The way he carries himself completely lacks confidence. His shoulders slouch and his ears hardly come all the way up. His tail is partially tucked back behind his legs. And he's big. I mean, he's not fat, but--well, no, he's fat. Not like super-fat or weird-fat, but if you tried to be nice by phrasing it along the lines of, "Oh, he could stand to lose a few pounds," then you'd better have an awesome poker face, because even if he lost a few pounds, he'd still be fat.

And he's looking at me with this expression that says that he just knows that it's too good to be true that this cute twink of a cacomistle is really going to have sex with him.

Because that's what this place is, I can tell. We're not in the gayborhood still, I don't think, but we can't be too far, because that bitch of a vixen is still failing to be subtle with her awkward stares, and I can practically see the mental image she's chewing on, of this chubby husky who outmasses me two to one, fumbling around like some virginal klutz as he tries to stick his dick in the pretty little ringtail.

"You all right?" the husky asks, and only when I hear his voice do I realize that I was totally staring back at the fox behind the counter. "If it's about the room, don't worry. I got it."

God fucking dammit, how am I supposed to shoot him down now? He's already got his mind set on where this is all headed, and he's already dropped the money, and shit, while a night at the sleep-and-fuck isn't exactly expensive, it's definitely more than I afford to just pay him out-of-pocket, especially after a night at the club. What the hell was I thinking, following this guy out here? I wasn't that horny and desperate, was I?

I think back to when the last time I got laid was. No boyfriend in over six months. No steady action from any of my local fuck buddies in the aftermath. Two weeks ago I got a handjob from a coyote in the bathroom after meeting up for a coffee date that didn't go anywhere (well, except to a handjob in the bathroom).

And I distinctly remember telling my friends, as we were pulling up the club earlier, how I was going to get super-drunk and super-laid tonight, in that order.

Mission half-accomplished. Go me.

"Honestly, it's no trouble," the husky says when I don't respond right away. "If it makes you feel any better, my tax returns just came in." He finishes that with a chuckle that tapers off anticlimactically. Oh, this poor fella. I really, really hope I'm not dealing with a virgin here.

"Nah, it's not that," I say, trying to reassure him, and then I realize that by saying "It's not that," I've inadvertently implied that it's something else, and so now I have to make up something else for "that" to be. "I'm just a little nervous." Which is lame, but at least mostly true.

Husky flashes me a bright, toothy, actually-mostly-confident smile. "Aw, someone as cute as you shouldn't be nervous," he says, and he looks like he's going to add something to that, but as one of his paws reflexively comes up to his belly, he stops himself and leaves it at that. "Anyhow, do you, uh, want to go up, now?"

It's not like I blacked out or anything back at the club. I don't have any big gaps in my memory. Like, I remember this guy, and I remember flirting with him, maybe leading him on since I could tell how much he wanted me and I was kind of enjoying that. The details are the only thing I'm still fuzzy on, like what his name is and what possessed me to leave my friends behind and the club and follow someone who's not my type to a hotel.

"Sure," I say, since it's easier than making a fuss in the lobby, and I don't want to give Miss Priss the satisfaction.

Husky leads the way, and as I follow him, I remember my own very first one-night stand. I felt really insecure then, trotting after some guy I barely knew on our way to the elevator lobby. That much is very much still the same, but the reasons for my insecurity are totally different now. Really, my biggest concern at the moment is how much of my dignity is going to be intact by the time I get out of her.

I start to brainstorm excuses I can make. There are two condoms in my back pocket, but I can always just lie and say that I forgot to bring any and oh, sorry, guess we can't fuck. But that doesn't mean he wouldn't check--he doesn't strike me as assertive enough to grab my ass to see if I'm lying or not, but maybe I'm getting the wrong read on him. And really, just one look at me, in my skimpy denim shorts and my tight little half-shirt, and no self-respecting queer would ever believe that I'd be out at a club on a weekend without condoms on the not-so-off chance of my getting laid.

Oh, right, and that doesn't even take into account that he probably has condoms of his own, anyway. So yeah, okay, that's not a viable tactic.

This hotel actually does have elevators, it turns out, which means it's not a total shithole. Actually, now that we're outside the elevators, I think I might recognize this place, and if it's the place I'm thinking it is, they actually have decently nice rooms and good bathrooms for cleaning up after a quick fuck. Except, I remind myself, I'm not going to fuck this husky, because that would be weird.

The ding that heralds the elevator's arrival snaps my big ears back to attention, and the husky giggles at my reaction. "This isn't your first time doing something like this, is it?" he asks.

I laugh, and I don't mean to, but it happens before I can stop myself. It's kind of a mean laugh, too, but I hope he doesn't notice that given that he doesn't know me very well yet. "No," I assure him, trying to level out my tone. "No, I'm... not new at this." Does that still make me sound like a slut? Eh, probably.

Husky steps on into the elevator and sticks out one stocky leg to keep the doors from closing. If I get into the elevator, I'm committing myself. But do I have a good excuse to back out? I guess I have, "Sorry, I had a little too much to drink and I got ahead of myself, and I really appreciate the offer, but I probably shouldn't go through with this."

And if I say that, he'll act all polite and say, "Oh, sure, no problem," and everything will seem fine until next weekend when I show up at the club again and can't get any action because he's told everyone that I'm just a drunken, slutty cocktease who doesn't put out.

And I can't have that, so into the elevator I go.

The doors close, and this is the first time we've really been alone together. He smiles at me, somewhat more confident than before, but still dopey and sheepish around the edges. He doesn't say anything, though, and eventually I have to speak in order to break the silence before it gets more awkward than it already is.

"So I, uh, forgot your name."

"Danny," he says. Predictably, he looks a little offended. But wow, really? Danny? Not 'Dan' or 'Daniel'? Why is it that fat guys always go by diminutives?

He doesn't even look like a Danny. Maybe because he's a husky I was expecting something more along the lines of 'Sasha' or 'Nikolai' or what have you. But then, those names also carry some sort of idea of dashing handsomeness with them, too, so I guess 'Danny' shouldn't be all that surprising.

"Hi, Danny," I say. "So, uh, do you do this sort of thing a lot?" I've come up with a new game plan: act shy and nervous and try to get out of here with giving a pity handjob.

Danny shuffles his feet a bit. "Naw, not really." I'm trying to place his accent; he talks kinda slow. "You're real cute, though, so I figure, um..." His ears go bright, bright red as his words trail off, and okay, that's legitimately sort of adorable, and it makes me wonder what he was actually going to say. Something that was probably a bit filthy, which means I'd probably be flattered.

The elevator stops at the sixth floor. I expect it to grind to a halt with a shaky rattle, but no, it just stops and the doors open with hardly a sound. And yeah, as soon as I get a look at the hallway, I can tell this is definitely the hotel I was thinking it was. "Well, thank you," I say in response to his half-finished compliment finally, and I step out of the elevator and wait for him to lead the way to the room.

I can tell from the cant of his hips as he walks that Danny the husky is trying his hardest to keep his tail from wagging like an excited puppy's as we get closer to the room. In a way, I feel bad for canines for having such easy-to-read tails that they have such little control over; it makes duplicitousness such a trick for them. I have yet to meet a non-cacomistle who could read the movements of my baffling monstrosity of a tail. Except for when I'm lifting it, I mean.

We get to Room 617. Danny sticks the key into the card slot, and he looks cautiously at me out of the corner of his eye before he turns the doorknob and makes his way inside. On reflex, I look behind myself, but no, we're alone. I slip into the room after the husky, using one paw to help tug my tail inside after me before the door can close on it. The scent of clean hotel room is weirdly welcoming. That smell isn't going to stay around for long, though. Not with a horny canine.

One thing about one-night stands that still feels weird is showing up in a hotel room without any stuff. No suitcases to oddly shove into a corner. No toiletries to set up in the bathroom. No new clothes to change into the next morning. Just the bed, a dresser, and a television that'll never be turned on.

Well, two beds, in this case. Maybe the nosy bitch downstairs was willing to give us the benefit of the doubt that we weren't actually gonna fuck (which, if I play my cards right, we won't). Or maybe this is her idea of a joke, or her way of saying, "No, sorry, I can't see you together," and hey, neither can I, so if--

Husky steps in closer, slings his arms in low, and grabs my ass in both paws. I squeak--I actually _squeak--_in surprise as his thick fingers squeeze down and he growls playfully with his muzzle right next to mine. "Okay, cutey," he says, his lips curled up into a big smile, "let's get you nice and comfortable, huh?"

He takes two steps back and falls back onto the edge of the bed, pulling me down into his lap. I'm so flustered and off-guard that I don't even say anything; my jaw just hangs open as I stare dumbly into his face, his fingers still gripping my butt, my front resting against his soft, round, and actually really comfortable belly. "You really are adorable, you know that?" he says, both of his paws leaving my backside to slide along my flanks, my back and sides. I shiver a little and it actually feels pretty nice.

This is not at all the kind of assertiveness I would have expected from him. I was thinking he'd be too nervous to make the first move. I was expecting him to pace back and forth for a minute, then lamely sit on the bed and pat the spot next to him to invite me over before some awkward groping started.

But no, now here he is, having just come right up to me, grabbed me by the ass and pulled me right into his lap so that he can start doting on me with his warm fingers, his whiskery muzzle brushing against mine as he takes deep, slow breaths, nostrils flaring as he takes long sniffs of my fur. Oh, there's some slight hesitation here and there, and as I look into his eyes, I can tell that he's not entirely confident in himself or the situation, but he's willing to run with it for as long as I don't stop him.

Even so, his boldness is refreshing, and as I think about it some more, I realize I shouldn't be surprised. While the entire preceding evening hasn't come flooding back to me, I at least remember him flirting with me, and being pretty blunt and straight-forward with his come-ons. I thought it was pretty ballsy, someone of his, uh, stature being willing to approach a guy like me and be so forward. Okay, so maybe part of it was me getting a kick out of seeing him think he actually had a shot, but hey, now he's the one with the cute cacomistle in his lap.

He kisses me--not on the lips, but on the side of my muzzle. Kissing is always a weird thing during one-night stands: some people go for it full-out, like there's nothing unusual about it, but others shy away from it completely, like it somehow conveys too much of a romantic or emotional sentiment that isn't really there. I'm weird about it because I don't really care one way or the other, but I can never tell if another guy is going to be into it or not, and so I let them do the initiating. This little peck on the muzzle is almost too cute to take seriously. It makes me blush.

Bumping his nose against one of my ears, Danny the husky grins. "You're cute when you smile like that," he says, lips tickling my ear at the very tip. Both of my ears burn even brighter at that. Shit, why is he getting to me like this all of a sudden?

Before I can think better of it, I kiss him on the side of the muzzle, in turn. I feel him flush up as hot as me. He sets one paw back on my ass and squeezes hard, milking another sharp squeak from me. Wow, he's really keen on my butt, isn't he? If you'd asked me even two minutes ago, I'd've told you that I had this guy pegged as a total bottom, the sort of 'gentle giant' who gets all fawning and subby in the bedroom because he's not allowed to act that way out in the rest of society. Now I'm not so sure.

"You're not so bad, yourself," I reply. As soon as I say it, I feel like an idiot, but Danny smiles anyway, presumably taking it as the compliment I intended it as. To reassure him that, yes, I meant it and my words are just clumsy, I kiss him again, this time on the lips.

He kisses back. It's not deep and there's no tongue, but his lips mesh with mine for a few pleasant seconds before he pulls back. I can't see his tail past his large frame, but I can hear it thwapping against the bed. He lets his nose touch mine briefly, and then, with a soft whisper, he says, "That was nice."

Then he grabs my butt again and uses a couple of fingers to play with the clasp at the back of my pants, just above my tail. I tilt my head back, and my whole torso shudders along the spine, against the husky's nice, cozy front. Maybe there is something to be said about the benefits of having some extra poundage kicking around. I steady myself with a paw on his tummy and give it a little rubbing pat to test it out. He must like that, because his throat rumbles with a soft growl and he works even harder at getting the back of my pants open.

Not long after, he's got his fingers wrapped around the base of my tail, his paw stuck snugly inside of my underpants. The odds of him bottoming tonight are dropping by the moment. This also means that the odds of my getting out of this room with a simple pity-handjob are dropping accordingly, but that's less of a concern to me now since, with all the other surprises this dog has sprung on me, I kinda wanna see how he can fuck.

Before my pants are gone completely, I make sure to reach for my back pocket and grab one of my condoms. Because I'm such a showy little slut, I stick it between my teeth, waggling my eyebrows at Danny as I arch back, using both my free paws to fiddle with my fancy belt buckle, prising it open slowly.

Danny leans back, takes hold of my hips, and pulls me up atop him. His front is like a big, giant pillow; it still kind of weirds me out, but I'm getting progressively more okay with it. My legs dangle back, my ankles at the edge of the mattress. There's enough room for the husky to work, though, and he starts to pull my pants and my underpants down, past my hips, down along my thighs. His arms aren't long enough to reach my knees from this angle, so I finish the job for him, wriggling my legs back and forth until I've kicked my rumpled up garments off onto the floor.

I'm naked from the waist down, and while Danny can't see it with his belly blocking the view, he can sure as hell feel my erection digging in against the lower curve of his gut. Now there's no more disguising the fact that I'm into this and committed to seeing it through. The alcohol definitely hasn't worn off completely; if it had, I'd be rock-hard and embarrassed instead of rock-hard and just kind of embarrassed.

"Scoot on up further, cutey," the husky tells me, and even as I comply he pulls me along, paws on my sides, equal parts coaxing and outright tugging. Soon I'm face-to-face with him again. He plucks the condom from my teeth and he rubs snouts with me while teasing my bare rump. My fur bristles, and my big ears twitch out to the sides. I can barely control the twisting and curling of my long tail.

"You're really warm," I say. Wow, I am just shit with my compliments tonight. It's a good thing we're already in bed together, or there'd be a chance I might not get laid tonight. My fingers slip under the hem of his shirt, and he sucks in his gut as if on reflex as soon as my claws brush against his fur. I look up and see that his eyes have scrunched up, too.

He's worried; that much is plain to see on his face. For him, this must be the make-or-break point. I smile, because he doesn't realize that I already thought I was past that point, myself, and ended up coming back around anyway. To reassure him, I tug his shirt up and give his stomach a little pat. It feels a little weird, but I can look past it in the name of putting on a good show. Besides, the less nervous he is, the less nervous I'll have to be.

When I try to pull his shirt off, however, he grabs hold of both my wrists and pulls my paws away. Before I try to tug myself free, I look up, and instead of seeing a look of panicked embarrassment, I see a big, broad smirk. With movements more sudden than I'd have expected, he rocks his weight to one side, flipping me onto my back, pinning me underneath him. My eyes go wide as his weight forces the air out of my lungs. It's hard for me to see straight for a second or so, but in that second, I can hear the husky let out a laugh.

"Sorry. Not trying to crush you," he says, and then he props himself up on his arms. The lower curve of his belly still hangs low enough to brush my erection, and instead of thinking better of myself, I squirm and wriggle upwards to feel it some more. Again, he sucks his gut in, but maybe he's just ticklish.

I start to peel my top off, but once more Danny reaches out to stop me. He puts his paws onto my sides again, and I arch up onto my shoulders to let him do the honors, but instead he grabs me and flips me onto my tummy. My tail nearly gets caught up around my own leg, but I manage to pull it free before anything gets uncomfortably trapped. Warm breaths wash over the backs of my ears.

The bulge of the husky's denim-covered crotch presses in against my rump as he settles back in against me. He nibbles the side of one of my ears, and god, if I don't just start whimpering and wriggling even more as he does it. It's now an inescapable fact that, yes, I'm going to get fucked tonight, even if I have to beg (which I doubt I'll have to, but I'm ready for it just in case).

That wonderful nibbling stops, and the husky's large body goes still for a few heartbeats. "Thank you for this, by the way," he whispers to me.

I don't have the time or the presence of mind to formulate a good response to that. He sounds so sweet and sincere, and something about that catches me off guard and keeps me there. I'm vaguely aware of the sound of him fumbling with the front of his pants. I can tell when he uses his teeth to tear the condom wrapper open. But it's like I'm paralyzed due to being flustered. What do I say to that? I mean, I can't say, "You're welcome." That's weird.

He rolls the condom onto his dick, his fingers brushing the backs of my thighs as he does so. I haven't snuck a look back yet, but I get the impression that he's big. Guess I'll find out soon enough. It's probably too late at this point to ask for a rimjob, huh? Though really, I've never been able to figure out how to ask for one of those anyway, even when it is appropriate.

I figure all I'm going to get is a pawful of saliva spread out over the husky's dick, but instead, I hear the sharp crack of hard plastic, followed a moment later by the very familiar sound of slick pads sliding along a condom-wrapped shaft. Go figure that the professional club-slut is the one that didn't think far enough ahead to bring a little pillow pack of lube. Mental note for next time.

The remainder of the lube gets collected onto Danny's fingertips and rubbed right underneath my tail. One of his fingers slips partway into me, not very far, but enough that he's able to stretch me a bit and smear some of that lube around before pulling out. I feel his weight resettling. This is either about to get really hot or really awkward.

My eyes roll back and I gasp as he starts to push his way into me. God, he's thick, without much of a taper at all. In a moment of weakness, I actually literally bite the pillow. Sure, the lube helps, but oh, boy, this is a tough one to take, and my wound-up tension from earlier in the evening has not fully dissipated despite my having grown more, ah, receptive to the big husky's advances.

He's patient, though. Patient, but he doesn't stop. He keeps nudging, shifting his hips to change his angle, needing to do it repeatedly since I keep on squirming and changing position, myself. My teeth bite harder into the pillow. I strain to keep my hips from moving around too much, to keep my rump raised up at the right angle and--

--and then he's all the way in, pressed right up to the hilt, and wow, fuck, that feels nice. The weight of his belly rests against my butt and my lower back. I start to catch my breath, but before I make much progress he starts to grind against me, killing all my progress. At least my jaws have released the pillow.

I expect him to murmur some new compliment into my pinned-back ears, something about how warm or tight or accommodating I am or whatever, but the only thing to come out of his muzzle is a grunt as he slowly draws back and then pushes back in. It doesn't hurt nearly as much the second time, but I'm still not fully used to how big he is. Usually guys as well-hung as Danny here know to wait for a while to let little folks like me adjust and acclimate. It's not too shocking to think that he gets laid way less often than I do, but still. Or, okay, if I want to give him more credit, maybe he's usually more of a bottom like I initially thought.

The silver lining to that starting discomfort is that I'm at least getting stretched faster. Thank god he's not rough or anything--I think it's more just that he doesn't realize his own size. Which I'm not sure if that's ironic or not. My fear that his weight alone would be too crushing to be comfortable is unfounded. His wide hips definitely have some good momentum to them, though.

My shirt starts to ride up my back as my body jostles back and forth. The sensation of fabric bunching up against my fur keeps me anchored to the reality of the moment, preventing me from just getting lost amongst those pounding thrusts. Every so often, one of the flaps of the husky's jeans flips forward and smacks against my rump with the weight of that sturdy metal button, like gentle and playful smacks. I try to remember the last time I had a good spanking. Maybe husky would give me one if I asked?

No, I don't need to make this all kinky and weird. Not for a one-night stand. Not with a sweetheart like Danny. Yeah, he's a sweetheart. A sweetheart with a big dick that is making me clutch the sheets so hard that my claws are snagging into the fabric. A sweetheart that is hitting all the right spots inside me, making me leak so hard that I'm sure there must be a little puddle between my knees at this point.

When I reach back to jerk myself off, I hesitate, waiting for Danny to stop me and do it himself. He doesn't, but that's fine. He's focusing on what he's already doing, and I'm just fine with that. And it's not like I need to do much other than wrap my fingers around my cock and let the jerking motions of my own body do the work for me. Hell, I'm already past the point of being able to see straight, so being able to maintain an even, teasing rhythm is likewise beyond me.

Once I start to jack myself off, everything goes sort of hazy. Sensations blur together as my fingers slide along my shaft, as the base of my tail gets pinned in place, as my prostate gets hammered. There are alternating waves of tightness and relief that wash over me, from my hips to my stomach and sometimes rippling all the way up to the base of my skull.

I bury my face into the pillow, parts of it still damp from when I was biting it. I try to muffle my squealing cry as I get off, but the big husky stuffs himself into me nice and hard, and my head jerks to one side, freeing up my muzzle so that he can hear me loud and clear. Shit, if there's anyone awake in the room next door, they can probably hear me, too. My pride is wounded, but I can't care too much because I'm busy shaking with ecstasy as my shaft twitches, my spurts splattering off of my fingers.

Danny keeps working hard at my rear. He hasn't gotten off yet. I wonder if he's intent on tying with me; usually, canids'll ask before just going ahead and doing it, and more often than not, unless you're already dating, they won't even go there at all. Danny's polite enough that I know he'll ask. I'd probably let him, at this point, provided I can lie on my side afterwards.

But instead, as soon as I think that, the husky slumps up against me. His knot rests outside, pressed against the root of my tail. His stomach flattens out against my lower back. Now he feels fat again, but I can't complain since he worked me over so well and I'm still afterglowing hard. My nostrils flare as I pant in and out through my nose, in no real rush to calm back down after that nice, solid fuck.

Danny falls onto his side and pulls me with, clear of the wet spot. He's still stuffed inside me, and I'm still tingly back there from it. One of his paws rubs at my front, and I feel self-conscious as he strokes along my own flat, taut belly.

"You gonna need a cab back home soon or anything?" the husky asks after we lie there in silence for a bit. Before I respond, he pulls himself free from beneath my tail. I brace for the dribble of semen to follow, but then I remember the condom and the fact that, this time, I wasn't too drunk to be responsible.

"Naw, I'm good," I reply. "We got the room for the whole night, right?"

The husky chuckles at that, and the way his body jostles is kind of fun. "Yeah, they still don't rent out rooms just for a quick lay. Yet."

I'm half-naked, sore, sticky, embarrassed, and really happy, all at the same time. "This was nice," I say.

"Yeah," Danny replies. "Yeah, it was."

Sometimes it feels weird, spending the night with someone after you've had sex with them but you don't really know them. That's not going to be a problem tonight, I can already tell. Danny's a good cuddler, for one, and we had some good sex, the kind that might lead to more in the morning, not the kind that makes leaving in the morning a weird, jumbled mess of forced pleasantries and excuses.

But I'll accept sleeping with just a shirt on, tucked up against some guy I barely know, so long as he's comfortable doing the same, and doesn't smell funny or anything. On some level, I'm happy enough knowing that I had a good time and someone else did, too.

Behind me, the big husky is already starting to wind down. I can tell from his slowing breathing that he's going to fall asleep soon, maybe even start snoring. But I'm exhausted, too, and so long as I'm warm and comfortable I'll be able to fall asleep no problem.

Things get hazy. At the edges of my mind, I can still faintly feel the last vestiges of my earlier drinking. Hopefully that doesn't mean too much tossing and turning, and I doubt I had so much that I'll be terribly hungover in the morning.

Hopefully, before the big guy and I go our separate ways, we'll get the bare minimum of a handjob in before we check out.