Sure, Why Not?
_Toonces, the Driving Cat, the Cat Who Could Drive a Car
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He had a huge rack, and I like that in a man, so I stuffed his dick in my mouth. A guy doesn't come across big Bucks like him often so I didn't fret the setting, and the stately antlers weren't the only thing I liked about him, though they were honestly all he'd have needed to get my lips around his dick. I was still taking survey of his body when I first tasted pre on my tongue - while I was just teasing him, wrapping the lips around his fat head and teasing him with the tip of my tongue. He was still sweaty from his workout, and my fingers were still wet from my swim. Otters tend to dry off quickly, but it hadn't been a minute earlier I'd walked in to see him fondling himself. He wasn't jerking off, he was simply cradling his balls, his cock half-hard, looking like he was wishing a guy like me would walk in and be impressed. I had stood there, knowing I looked damn good, my fur shining to highlight the artistic, slight curves of my swimmer's body. And he looked damn confident himself, his well-toned muscles shown in full, sharp relief under his short fur.
I thought I could read his mind in the way he smiled, seeing me without acknowleding me. He was thinking "I look so damn good, I wouldn't be surprised if he came right over and started sucking my dick."
And I had thought, "I look so damn good, I bet that guy wouldn't stop me if I just walked over and started sucking his dick."
I felt like a slut the first time I fucked a guy without knowing his last name. I had already gagged on this guy's cock three times before he even said his first word to me. I took a deep breath and enveloped my muzzle around his cock, holding my slight body still and managing to roll my tongue along the underside of his dick as I pressed my nose into his stomach, and he said "Ung." If that doesn't count as a real word, he then said "Goddamn" and put a hand on my head. It fit perfectly between my round ears, it was so wide. He pushed me down on his cock whenever I had the audacity to pull a few inches from my lips, but he wasn't rough, and I only pulled any of that thick meat out of my throat so I could catch my breath and feel myself shoved down onto it again.
My little blue speedo was being stretched to torturous lengths. I could taste the precum pouring over my tongue. I pulled my lips from his cock just for a moment to see the beast for myself, as I'd shoved him in half-baked and could only gauge the scope of it by how difficult it was to keep my teeth from scraping on it. It ran like a faucet. It really did. And you know? I could really taste him. It didn't taste like his cum, it simply tasted like him, which made sense. I'd never had a guy spill precum like that, enough to gloss my tongue with a thin sheen of it that kept the taste there even when I was wiping my mouth and stretching my jaw in front of him. It was like finding a whole new part of a Man to enjoy. Like the first time you fuck a man and realize that there's a scent you've never smelled before, though you've smelled something like it. I gorged on it, drank his juice until I almost felt full, my webbed fingers cradling his balls, squeezing and fondling them as gently adjusting the heat and flow of a faucet.
So then I got this thing for taste, like a revelation, like I'd been blind before and saw for the first time. I sucked the sweat off his nuts and huffed in the scent of his workout, manly but not overpowering, so distinctly and divinely masculine, so hot and irresistible it made me philosophical. I considered my place in the universe, the span of history, the inevitability off death, and all of it seemed to lock together and fall into place when I let his nuts rest on the bridge of my nose as I inhaled him. "Everything is right," I thought as I kissed and slurped with tender stoicism up his body, the final pieces of my epiphany falling into place as I made myself comfortable at his nipples."Everything is fine," I thought as I sat up, straddling him on the bench, and nibbled as his beefy neck. "Everything will be for the best," I thought just as the back of my little blue speedo was pulled down over my cheeks and a fat cock was pressed under my tail.
If there's anything more to writing, if forming words on a page really does breathe life into a reality and a being, then I must have been a vital character in a hot story. The symbolism was powerful, the tone was irresistible, the setting was perfect, it all seemed so constructed, so driven to a final conclusion, and more than anything I felt powerless in it. If that's what love is supposed to feel like, then I guess love is a fat dick on a guy I barely know.
I teased him, only once, before he tightened his grip around me and made as if to shove it all in me at once, but my sudden and excited cries stopped him just before he could sink the death blow. I didn't tease him after that, but he let me go slow. For a short time I simply writhed on top of his girth, wriggling my hips, trying to find purchase, moaning as I felt the rod splitting me, but not quite open. I groaned against the fat rod, feeling every immeasurable step, the indescribable sensation of being so close to having a cock sink into you while your ass resists it to the last, and then finally, it did. I sunk onto his cock quickly, surprised as just how hard I had been shoving myself down on it when I immediately grinded down half of it before a sharp jolt in my back straightened my legs and pulled it back out to the head, my lust overcoming my safety-oriented reflexes just in time. I couldn't see the look on his face, as my chin was resting on his meaty shoulder. I grabbed onto his antlers to steady myself as I sat up straighter on his cock - looking down to see my cock still straining at the little blue speedo, the pressure relieved but not removed - and started to dip myself slowly up and down his manhood. I took a little more each time, but I made him wait, going slow, being patient. I told myself - experienced little otter that I thought I was - that I was being sexy. I saw myself teasing him, making him yearn for each new inch, impressing him with how much I was taking. In reality, I was scared. I was trepidatious. My chest rose and fell quickly, my breath deep, my eyes closed in concentration, my hands gripped tight around the base of each antler. My back was arched - and I thought I didn't look uncomfortable! - and had I been able to open my eyes I would have only been blinded by cheap UV lighting.
He put his chin on my chest, rested it there, then shifted it only a little to start nibbling on my neck. He had to reel me in a little as I had bent so far back that my tail grazed against the back of my head. He grabbed me by the hips and started easing me along, finally hilting me on his cock, my back arching again, reflexively. I tried to sit up, but he held me there, squeezing my ass, spreading my cheeks, making me grind and roll my hips on his cock. Well, he didn't make me. It felt like he was making me. I was doing the grinding all myself, though. I felt like a kid when he can finally see to the top shelf. "That's what's there," I thought to myself as I shifted my weight in his lap, feeling the sensation not like jolts of electricity, but like a seeping, a slow spreading of pleasure through my body like a drop of blood in water.
The he got less patient. He started thrusting, and I could tell he'd been working on his lower body. He held me at just the right height for him to pound my ass - I tried to sit up to avoid the assult, or sit down to stop his momentum, but he held me in place, his hands fanned out over my cheeks as if to enjoy every square inch of me he could. My little blue speedo finally worked enough down my thigh to free my dick - jostled free, really - and it slapped against his stomach as he fucked me. And his his hips slapped against me, and every so often his hand would slap against my ass, and all these slaps made for a dull, timpani beat. But his hips didn't just slap against mine, they clapped, the sound was so clear, so regular, almost unmistakable.
And as he pummeled my ass, I started to give back. I started to ride with him, dropping my hips when I should, clenching around his rod. And as I helped him fuck me, he stopped giving it to me. It was a transition I didn't notice until I realized that, for a few minutes, he hadn't moved at all beyond nibbling my neck again. He sat there while I rammed myself on his dick, drove it into my tight hole to the best of my physical limits, just as hard as he had been fucking me, but now I was fucking myself. And that's when I really started moaning. That's when the chain was yanked, and a moment that had seemed to progress so naturally on its own, had come to this moment to forces beyond my control and understanding, only to, in a moment, realized that it was Me doing it. It was Me dropping myself on his dick like trying to break a clam open against a rock. It was Me holding tightly onto his antlers so I would not lose balance. It was Me who unable to fuck Myself fast, hard, and deep enough for My satisfaction.
And I thought, "Jesus, I'm a slut."
He must have read my realization on my face. It's not so hard to think he could. I think that's how he wanted me to feel, because the moment I felt it, he smiled, and he grunted, and he pulled my hips until he hilted me, and he came. I sat on his dick, my cock pulsing with his, and I thought I was cumming, I really thought I was going to cum. Then I realized, I wasn't cumming, he was, and he was already half through, and it was obscene. I blushed. It's a little embarrassing to have a sense of feeling a guy fill you up. It's even worse to not realize you're being pumped until you're already almost full. He was still cumming, I guessed, from the slight thrusts, really little more than a jerk, but they continued, on and on, for how long already I didn't know, until he slowed down, almost as if he needed to prime each jet, as if he wanted to make sure to loose every drop inside me. And I thought again, "Goddamn, I'm a slut."
And I thought it again, and again, and while I thought it he pulled me off his cock. I couldn't see it, but I imagined myself dripping his spunk. That's the image I constructed of myself. Goddamn, I really felt like a slut.
He blew me, and I came, and he ate it, just about that quickly. My cock shot like it was tired of having to do its job, all the ferocity of orgasm apparently spent while I rode the deer so that, when he finally wrapped his lips around my cock and I was already too far gone to resist, my cock simply spilled its seed into his mouth, all of which nearly went on without my consent, as I simply sat back against the lockers, my chest rising slowly, little grunt and groans coming from me as if through a sleep. After all that, it was like I was twelve years old again, waking up to find myself in a messy, embarrassing situation, and recalling a vaguely compelling, guilty sensation that I knew must be connected to this messy conclusion.
He left while I sobered up. I watched him get dressed, stuffing his softening dick into little black briefs. I only watched, catching my breath, catching my thoughts. I was still a little dazed when he grabbed his bag, ruffled my tiny round ears, and left.
I felt bad about not getting to say "Goodbye," but then again, I hadn't bothered to say "Hello" in the first place.