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I've made enough mistakes in my time, I'll have to admit that. But one I try not to make is falling for the straight guys. Oh, don't get me wrong, they can be hot as fuck and the most fun to play with in the right circumstances, but that's all it is, play. Only once...well, almost, did I fall for it. And that was a long time ago.

My first time enjoying a bit of that play was in college. It was also the time I nearly fell for the stupid fantasy; I'm older and wiser now.

My first year roommate was a jock stallion called Pete. Young Pete was dumb as a bag of hammers, he seemed barely able to pass even with help, but he was a nice enough guy and easy on the eye. A chestnut quarterhorse with a bit of Percheron, just bulky enough but not a total block of muscle, he was into football and track and field and anything really. He was one of those naturally athletic types, like a lot of stallions I guess. I certainly liked to look, but I never thought it would go much beyond that.

I was just an average built husky guy, a bit of a nerd, nothing much to look at though I did make a few guys give me those looks when I got up my courage and went to the bars and clubs that I learned about on the net. I had a kind of innocent twink thing going, and for a certain type of guy, it seemed to act like a beacon.

The first time I went to one of those clubs I had just turned eighteen, green as grass. I'd fooled around in highschool but not done much, in my small town there weren't many guys out and the ones who were tended to be ostracized so I stayed in the closet and had a couple of furtive wank and suck sessions when nobody was looking. I still remember my first kiss though, and the first touch of another guy's paw on my cock, and my first cum with someone else. It was fumbling and in hindsight really unsatisfactory but it was still magic because everything was fresh and new. He was the cousin of one of my friends from school, staying in town for the holidays, and part of the attraction for both of us was we would never have to see eachother again if it was a disaster.

Then it wasn't a disaster and instead I had to see him go home and had my heart broken. I vowed then to be picky about whom I fell for, and so far I've made that stick mostly. Mostly.

But then came college, and turning eighteen, and I went wild as only a horny gay kid from the country can when suddenly he gets let loose in the biggest candy store in the universe. Anything went, I only had to choose.

My first time, on my eighteenth, I wore my best going out gear and my sexiest underwear; a tight as fuck little jock pouch that barely contained my sheath and balls let alone any sort of hardon. Some of the looks I got made me shiver all over, and I loved the attention. I shared myself around a bit, getting a lot of free drinks and a lot of compliments, but one guy stood out and I kept coming back to him.

A big bear guy with a bit of salt and pepper in his fur, he had a rough goatee under his chin, a big muscelgut contained by his plain white shirt, and a hot stare on him that would melt through granite. I caught him giving me that look a few times, and it always made me blush under my fur and feel too warm and have to go to the bar for another soda water. I was a total piker when it came to booze, a Cadbury of the worst type. A glass and a half, and I was all done. So I sipped the drinks, and went back for more soda water, and I felt buzzed but not too far gone.

Bear guy though made me feel like I had downed a six pack and then some. It turned out his name was Mark. Big, sturdy Mark; he drove trucks by day (and frequently by night) and when he got the chance he went cruising for hot guys in clubs like this one near the University. The younger, the fresher, the better.

His attention was so flattering, but it was more than that. Though I had experimented with porn enough while I was still at school, I really hadn't thought much about what I liked. Dicks, ass, muscles, fucking...it was all too hot, it was like everything maxed out my receptors. One day I saw my maths teacher sporting a semi and even that was enough to get me in the toilets at lunch beating my husky cock, and Mister Wilding was about as unsexy as it came. Some days I could barely think about anything other than sex.

So, I really didn't know what hot buttons I had. Everything seemed to be a hot button back then. Of course, I quickly learned to discriminate, and it should be no surprise that one of my hottest fetishes turned out to be Daddy types. Big, burly, basic, older. I knew sometimes my dad's friends got me that way, when they came around to our place for a BBQ and a beer and talked football and women and shit. But I hadn't appreciated how much it would do for me until that night in the club, with a hot daddy bear giving me those looks and telling me what a hot little pup I was.

He was gentle, was Mark, which really wasn't what I was expecting but it was good that he was. I hadn't a fucking clue. And he was a master at foreplay; back in school we tended to get down to business pretty fast, all that furtive action and the longing and the fear of getting caught made for fast and simple. Paw in pants, cock in paw, pop off and look all embarrassed and try not to look guilty afterwards. I had never experienced a long slow buildup, teasing, edging. Mark was my guide to a whole new world.

The first time I felt his muzzle on my ass was the highlight. I had never done anything like it, none of the guys I fooled around with went in for that much and I had to be content with some experimental fingering on my own. But a muzzle on my ass...ahhh, now that was a whole new experience.

After a lot of easy foreplay, getting me over my nervousness, Mark finally lay me down on my tummy and spread my legs and I felt his paws on my ass cheeks and I gritted my teeth expecting I knew not what but was sure it might be less than enjoyable at first. Instead, I felt a cascade of hot breath down my crevice and the feel of a tongue lapping at my taint. I nearly came there and then.

Then my first real rimming, as Mark enjoyed lavishing my virgin hole with attention, and finally he edged inside my ring with his tongue and ate me out. I was screaming and begging by the end, and when he finally slid his fat bearcock into my ass it was almost a disappointment. Right until he hit my prostate, and I had the first of what proved to be many anal orgasms as I pumped a load into his bed and he kept right on fucking until he said my name in the hottest whisper full of lust right into my ear and bathed my husky hole in his own cum.

I knew who I was then, and I knew what I wanted. I was a bottom, with a thing for big daddy studs, and as long as they took their time and gave me what I wanted, I would be begging for more. And part of what I wanted was a hot ass licking.

I learned a lot from Mark back then, how to give head, where to touch, how to bring a guy off, how to make him wait. He introduced me to his own ass, sitting over my muzzle and directing my tongue and fingers until I got him to the brink before he would grab me and throw me onto my front and powerfuck me into the heavens.

We had a few hook-ups, when he was in town, but he wasn't into a long term thing he said and with my newfound appreciation for sex, I was ok with that. And there were plenty of my daddy types to be had, when I went out looking mostly on Friday or Saturday night. I was still a good pup at heart, and I didn't play up on a school night.

After these experiences I became increasingly bold. Even a dumb jock like Pete had to know what I was up to, and who I was. When I would come home covered in hickeys, stinking of cum, and walking bowlegged after a guy had pounded my hole for a whole night, he would give me a look and just shrug. We didn't talk too much, usually on safe subjects like football or uni or people we both knew around college. He hadn't freaked out yet, and I was grateful for that. I didn't fancy having to find a new roommate if he cut up rough, he was kind of nice to be around, and I doubted I'd find anyone as good to look at. And being Pete's roommate carried a sort of cache with it around the college; the other jocks tended to treat me ok, as if I was sort of an extension of Pete's domain, like his sister or something.

Then came the day it all started to change. It was a Sunday, well into the year, a cold and dreary Winter's day outside. We were watching a Sunday twilight football match, not one I had much interest in but Pete liked to watch with friends and most of his mates were out so I got the gig. We had a decent enough plasma thanks to his parents, and as usual when watching football, Pete was sucking down some beer. It was like he couldn't watch football without it.

I was on my bed, Pete was on the lone battered armchair we had managed to scrounge from someone's hard rubbish collection one day. It was comfy enough, even if the upholstery was a bit worn and tattered. Pete liked it, and he always sat in it when he watched the teeve. He was onto his third can when he looked over to me and gave me a sort of half frown.

"Can't have you sitting there not drinking."

He threw one ice cold can at me with a casual flick of the wrist. I caught it reflexively, not sure what to do, but his expression seemed to brook no argument and for some reason I thought why not. I popped the top and sucked down a decent muzzlefull, until the sudden froth bubble out the top made me gasp and covered my muzzle in beer.

"Fuck, I thought you lot liked a drink. Can't handle a simple can of VB?"

I looked over at him, but he was concentrating on the game. Still, I couldn't let that little verbal sally lie, though I had a feeling of tension contemplating what he might have meant. I decided to play it coy.

"You lot? Who...canines?"

He gave a snort and finished his third can. "Nahh...fags! Sorry...gay guys..." he managed to look a little embarrassed, and he waved his hand in front of his muzzle as if trying to make the f word go away.

"What...what makes you think..." I knew he probably would have known, but still, I wasn't really ready for this. The moment where The Subject came up. When we finally acknowledged in words what had been there in the background. It was strangely exciting, and I prevaricated. Pete wasn't much for dancing around shit though.

"Come on, don't tell me you aren't. You come back here on the weekend smelling like my bedroom when I was fifteen, shit sometimes your shirt is ripped off with bite marks on your nips and you have this big grin on your muzz. I know that grin, I know when a guy is getting some, but in your case it aint a girl, is it."

He delivered his line with such a matter-of-fact look, and followed it up with a boyish burp followed by a whispered "excuse me", I almost had to kiss him there and then. He could remind me so much of the guys I lusted after back in school some days, young, dumb, full of cum, but innocent if that's not too ridiculous.

I couldn't deny it, so I opted for guy banter. "Hey, just because I'm getting some and you aren't..."

Big mistake. I realised as soon as I said the words; he had broken up with his girlfriend just a week ago and he was taking it hard. The fox was one of the most popular and attractive girls in the college, and Pete thought he was in love, right up until the moment he found her in the quadrangle after a party all over one of his footy mates with her paw in his jocks and her muzzle on his cock. To his credit, Pete wasn't for taking her back.

He was still hurting though, and I had reminded him of his pain.

"S...sorry mate..."

He waved his hand again and pulled out another beer. Then he threw another one at me.

"If you are gonna force me to drink by bringing that shit up, you had better make sure I aint drinking alone."

We proceeded to get hammered, though I think Pete was drinking four cans to my one. I don't even remember who won the match, which was fine because I kind of hated football. I had learned about it, a lot, as only a nerd can in order to blend in with my school mates, but deep down I found it pointless and boring. But after a three cans of beer, it was the most fascinating thing on Earth. Mind you, by a certain level of intoxication all sorts of things became fascinating. Like lighting farts for example.

Pete was an absolute demon at it, it turned out.

We sat there, a giggling mess like a couple of primary school kids who have discovered the word "boobies" spraypainted on a fence. I felt warm, in a kind of snuggly way. Not physically, more emotionally. We had shared, and found a place to meet on even terms it seemed. I could even forgive him for using the f word, especially as he seemed to know it was probably not a good idea to say it the way he had.

Eventually he let out a long heartfelt sigh. "You know the worst part?"

I didn't, but I was interested to know so I shook my head and beckoned for more with my eyes.

"I haven't had a good fuck now in...ahhh so long. I'm so horny it's fucking killing me."

I snorted beer out my nose then and found him beside me smacking my back. It turned out I had also had half a can go the wrong way and sounded like I was choking. He looked like he was about to perform the Heimlich but I manage to stop him and send him back to the chair.

Still, I knew that feeling. "Yeah, I know what you mean. When I went back home in the break...ohhh fuck, I was so pent up. I had to jack it four times a day or I'd go insane. My mum came in one time and caught me, and she just said "ohh...excuse me dear..." and left. I found a jumbo box of tissues outside my door when I got up the courage to come out. Nothing said, just the tissues...I nearly died."

Now it was his turn to lose it, and his laugh was a big booming rumble that always made me feel a little gooey. He looked like he was about to cry. "Ohhh shit...been a while since my mum caught me. She made my dad have a talk with me, and all dad could say was...'ahhh, son, I hear you've been, ahhh....ohhh shit, let's go kick the football for fuck sake and pretend we talked about this for your mother.'"

As we sat there enjoying the beer buzz, I guess I was conscious of something. We had crossed the Rubicon, but nothing happened. We had shared vulnerabilities, and realised we were both just guys at heart. And nothing had changed, but in a good way.

Except, I was to find later, it had.

*****

Over the weeks that followed Sunday games became our time. We would talk shit about everything and anything, even about my conquests and I would knock back more beer than I would ever dream of doing out on the prowl at one of the clubs. I became more up front, telling him about my daddies and my nights of wild fucking as a dedicated bottom dog. His eyes went wide and he shook his head with a big grin on his muzzle and called me a slut and I would pelt him with empty cans and we would wrestle and go back to watching the football.

He was trying to get up the courage to ask out the hottest girl in the place, a cheetah in fourth year Medicine who looked like a supermodel. I tried to gee him up like his footy coach.

"Get in there and do! Don't think...do! Take a risk, make it happen, and do! No guts no glory!"

He gave me evil stares and went back to his beer. I didn't realise it, but he actually was gunshy now, my dumb jock who could go out on the football field and get three broken ribs and concussion was afraid of emotional pain. It didn't make sense.

One fateful day though, I found something that did make sense, and it was me who went for it.

We were sitting enjoying our bro time on a Sunday, except both of us were a little distracted. Neither of us seemed able to sit still, or find a comfortable position, and there were plenty of grunts of pain and noises from the bed and the ancient lounge chair as we moved around trying to find some way to sit without it hurting.

"What's up with you?" my roommate finally asked a little exasperated.

"I was going to ask you the same?"

"Copped a strained hammy in the match yesterday. Hurts like fuck and I can't find a way to get comfortable."

"Ahhh well, if you will play that stupid game..."

"Hey! Football is life damn you, besides I see you watching it..."

"I'm not watching, I'm waiting for you to start lighting farts again is all."

"Just for that no more fartfire. But what about you?" he was intrigued now, after all, he knew I wasn't into sport so to his jock brain he had no idea what could be the problem.

"Bull."

"Who are you calling a liar?"

"Not bullshit. Bull. Why I'm sore."

"Going to have to give me more Alister..."

"Last night. When I came back at 2 am and you were asleep, I could barely walk. I spent the night with a big bull guy, a construction worker from the big site next to uni, where they are building the new student accom tower. He gave me the hardest fucking of my life, on and on forever, he had some Viagra onboard and a cockring and he just kept on for ages. Like, I came, and he was still going, and then I came again, and he was still going, and it kind of hurt, then it went a bit numb, and then I was doing my claws and doing my homework in my head and he was still going, then it felt ok again and I came and he was still going, then I lost all sensation and I think he finally came around 1 a.m. and passed out."

I watched the expression on Pete's muzzle turn from shocked to appalled to incredulous. I just kept on talking, mostly thanks to the beer. I had lost all inhibition around him, as events were to prove.

"Seriously...dude...tmi."

"Hey, one good point about having daddy types mate, they don't pop off in thirty seconds like guys our age."

Now he looked embarrassed. "Hey! Speak for yourself, slutdog!"

"Awwww...is little Petey a bit...enthusiastic?"

We had a good wrestle, then remembered why that was a bad idea about the time our respective injuries hurt enough that we couldn't ignore them anymore.

Pete was doubled up on the floor by now, trying to make his thigh pain go away.

"I...ahhh...I could try some massage and some cream on that Pete...I'm pretty handy with my paws..."

I was too, another thing Mark had taught me. I could give a wonderful sensual massage, or something a bit more aggressive if required. Pete looked uncertain and desperate in one. I shrugged my shoulders.

"Pete, It's only a massage. Don't you get those after footy training anyway? From a guy too?"

"Yeah but..."

"But what? Oh...not a fag, is that it?"

"No, really, Al, I just..."

"Get over yourself Pete. I'm trying to help you out here..."

I still can't believe he did it, even now. The beer definitely helped, that and our weeks of feeling each other out. I was an honorary bro now, it seemed. And bros help other bros out, no homo. Except of course I was very much homo.

Laid out on his bed, I took stock of my roommate. I pulled down his tracksuit, revealing his naked lower body with only a pair of briefs to cover him. His long silky tail fluttered with nerves, and his butt cheeks clenched invitingly under taut grey fabric. He had a kind of chestnut colouring, and it contrasted pretty nicely with his underwear. I wanted to see what it looked like under those briefs...but all in good time.

He reached back and rubbed the effected zone, just under his left butt cheek. "Ahh...sort of there..."

I had got some soothing lotion I kept in my cupboard. Perfect for a multitude of uses, ones a little different to what Pete was facing right now but with similar effects, I always kept a jar handy. This time, I lathered up my paws and went to work on the top of Pete's horsey thigh, right round the hamstring and up near his ass. He clenched almost like he was sending out Morse with his butt, a rapid set of irregular ass motions that almost made me laugh. The first feel of my paws made him jerk, but he relaxed soon enough as I went to work, and even stopped wiggling his ass, which I was a bit disappointed about. He even let out a soft sigh that sounded like pleasure.

When I finished, he refused to turn over for a minute.

"Really?" I gave him an evil smile, and his pink muzzle went even pinker, like a blushing colt. That innocent look again, and I had to restrain myself from nibbling his forelock like a squirrel after some nuts.

"So...what are you going to do about your problem?" It seemed he wanted to change the subject.

That was a bit of an open question for me at first. "I dunno...I need to inspect the damage and maybe put some of this on, but it's not easy to do myself and..."

The solution hit me like a tonne of bricks, and my grin must have looked pretty feral because Pete backed up with his ears all pricked and his mane twitching like a feral horse scenting a wolf.

"No..."

"Awww cmon Pete. I looked after you..."

"It's not the same!"

"Yes it is. It's just a guy helping out another guy! Think of it like...a sporting injury..."

"That's not sport!"

"Oh it fucking is you know, and I may be useless on the football field but in this, I'm fucking International material."

He slapped my ass, making me yelp, then again when I gave him a grin and poked out my tongue. It hurt but I didn't mind, I was getting off on it and he seemed to realise and gave a huge whinny and sat down in a huff.

"C'mon mate...fairs fair..."

That was unassailable logic for a guy. He gave a sigh and clopped over to the bed where I was sitting. I gave him a wink and rolled on my front. He didn't seem to know what to do, poor dear.

"Um...gonna be hard to check out the damage if I'm still dressed Pete."

"You are enjoying this you cunt."

"Absolfuckinglutely...now, pull em down doctor horse..."

He did, a little gingerly. My underwear drew a snort of derision, which wasn't entirely unexpected. My best Aussiebum jockstrap, with the nice white elastic framing my ass perfectly for the stallion. I had my tail up wagging now, the pain mostly forgotten, as I slowly spread my legs and presented my tailhole for inspection by my hot straight stud.

There was an audible intake of breath.

"Pete?"

Silence.

"Pete?!"

"Holy...fucking hell!"

Now I really was worried. I reached back to test out my own ass with a tentative finger, rubbing the ring of my pucker a little gingerly. I had had worse.

Pete was staring, kind of awestruck.

"Pete, it's not that bad. Bit swollen it feels, bit open, nothing too bad. Nothing some of this magic cream wont fix..."

"Dude! That looks....gross! How the fuck do you find that fun?"

Ahh, straight guys. All the things they are missing.

"Pete, trust me, don't knock it till you try it."

"Never! No fucking way!"

"Pete, seriously, you haven't tried it. It's awesome, believe me, or I wouldn't be doing it would I?"

The poor guy was standing with his arms crossed over his chest as if warding off some terrible evil and he was shaking his head from side to side with a wide eyed stare locked on my poor hole. I winced a bit as I flexed it; yeah, a little overused. Might have to give the daddy types a rest for a few days, but that was ok...

It seemed like my stallion mate wasn't about to reciprocate, and I had to attend to my own injury while he trotted back to sit on the lounge chair. He put his hooves up on the cushion and clasped his arms round his knees like a kid. The effect was spoilt a bit by the can on VB he was guzzling, but he still had that coltish thing going, even as he watched me repair the damage caused by an overenthusiastic bull with way too much ejaculation control for the wellbeing of my tailhole. A few good smears of soothing ointment and I felt it would be good as new. The little shake in Pete's mane as he sat there suggested my tailhole might be in better shape than his mental equilibrium.

A couple more beers though and he loosened up again, and found the stupid grin that I kind of liked. When he wasn't being a shit.

"What's the recovery time for that injury Alister?"

"Week, tops..."

"Fuck, and guys think you guys are soft."

"Hey, I told you. It's fun...too much fun to wait too long, even if my ass is a little tender. Even you could take it, and enjoy."

He seemed unconvinced. "Nah...can't see it..."

It was then that I got a little playful. The beer had be buzzed, that and the risqué play with my mate. He may not have touched my ass, but he had seen it. And in spite of his reaction, he hadn't left.

"It's a pity you're uptight mate. I could show you an amazing time."

He let out a startled whinny and almost dropped his beer. I wondered if I had pushed things too far, but he was mostly engaged in defending the premise of my statement it seemed.

"No way. There is no way anything with a guy would turn me on."

I didn't think about that statement much at the time, mostly thinking it was bullshit. Thinking about what it might mean came later, much later, but for now, my beer buzzed brain mostly liked the idea of proving him wrong. And using Pete's macho nature against him.

"Pete, I guarantee, if you let me work on you, I could make you cum so hard you wouldn't need a pawjob for a week."

"Fucking no way! I'm straight!"

Ahh, that old chestnut. From a chestnut, no less. "Pete, straight has nothing to do with it. It's just hormones and nerve endings; and a guy knows how to work those better than any girl ever will. Evan Sandra, the fourth year wondergirl, I bet she couldn't do you as well as I can. We know the territory...so to speak."

"Gross! I couldn't even get hard!"

"Pete, I bet you anything you like, I could not only get you hard, I could make you cum in under ten minutes, and there is nothing you could do to stop it."

"Bullshit!"

"Scout's honour Pete. Care to take the wager?"

He shook his head and turned back to the football, mane shaking in a mix of disbelief and shock. He knew what to do about that, did Pete, and another two cans of beer disappeared. I sucked on mine and decided, in a little haze of slightly not quite drunk, to push my luck. Besides, my ass was no longer hurting quite so much, and instead I had the hottest tingle in the lips of my ass and an itchy feel in my sheath.

"Bwaaaaak bwak bwak bwak..."

He looked at me a little stunned.

"What was that Al?"

"Bwaaaaaaaaaaaaaaak bwak bwak bwak..."

"The fuck..."

"Poor stud, all chicken, and all I'm offering is a chance for you to bust a nut too."

"You know that's not the point."

"Then what is the point Pete? You getting any?"

"No..."

"Well, I can relieve your tension, with no emotional baggage or mindgames like your last girlfriend, and I don't even need to suck your cock." I tried a little extra persuasion, to see if something a little less confrontational could seal the deal. I saw his ears prick a little, but he quickly shook his head and sucked down another beer.

"Chicken..."

He was slurring a bit now, and burping, and he was clearly a little confused. He had a cute little frown going on, and his tail flicked against his legs and his eyes rolled a bit while he tried to get used to what I was proposing.

"No muzzle? You won't be able to get me hard..."

"See, what have you got to lose then mate? No cock sucking, If you are that certain I won't be able to get you going."

"I dunno...still think it's a waste of time."

"See, you are coming round. If you are that certain nothing I do can get to you, then you've nothing to lose anyway."

"And what would you want if you succeed somehow?"

Now I had to think. And an evil thought began to form in my head. "If I win, I get to do whatever I want with you...once."

"No fucking way!"

It only took five minutes of chicken noises before he relented. Beer, and bravado. A fatal combination for any guy, especially a football stud like Pete. He was immortal, and totally in control of his own body. That wasn't what his ex girlfriend had told me, once when Pete wasn't around and she poured out her disappointment at his, er, lack of 'stamina', but Pete clearly didn't think she was right. We would see.

In the end, I had to promise to do his laundry for the rest of the year if he won. Pete hated laundry so much, he went around in stuff he had worn three times all the time. I could smell his scent a mile off and it was pretty enticing. It was nothing compared to what I was about to smell though.

He guzzled another beer for courage, crumpling the can before throwing it in the bin. Then he gave me a lopsided grin.

"Ok slutdog. Whadda ya want?"

"I want you naked...and on your knees over the back of that chair."

He looked nervous as hell, especially when it was apparent I had a plan, and it involved him in a very vulnerable position. A bet was a bet though, and a real guy doesn't welch. I reminded him of that, a little disingenuously, and he poked out his pink little tongue and stripped off his pants and briefs, then with a bit of coaching, took up the position I wanted.

I took a long minute to appreciate then. Here was my stud horse roommate, in a position I never really expected to see him. He was knelt on the cushion of the ancient armchair, which was straining under his weight now, hooves pointing to me, ass in the air and tail nervously pressed down his crevice. His rugby top still covered his torso, which was propped over the back of the chair, and his arms rested on the back, hands clasping the ancient upholstery a little tentatively for now.

I took up my own position behind him, kneeling on the floor. It gave me the best view, and the best access. Reaching out, I gripped his tail, startled at how soft and silky it felt. A thick long tail, black hairs in contrast to the chestnut of his coat. I ran my fingers through them while he nickered and tried not to shake, then I lifted his tail up high and feasted my eyes on the prize.

With his briefs now gone, I had the view I had craved while I massaged his injury. And it was magnificent. His ass was still clenching by reflex, but now every time it did I got a full uninterrupted view of his crevice, from his dock right across his thick ridged pucker and down his velvet taint to a pair of enormous testicles. I had to just admire for a while, this was too good to waste.

"Uhh...time's started. Like...a minute ago..."

"That's ok...I won't need the whole ten minutes anyway."

I did have to do something sooner or later though, and with a sigh, I reached under him, running my clawtips along the underside of his scrotum, watching them dance and roll, before finding his sheath. I gripped, just gently, and began to jack it nice and slow. I could feel him react, his whole body giving a little shudder, but he was determined to resist. His sheath swelled, and I could feel his cock protected inside filling with blood, but he hadn't dropped yet. Otherwise his reaction was most satisfactory though; ears flat, mane shaking, tail twitching in my paw. I could even see that fat pucker clench, pulling his taint tight and making his balls leap.

Now for my secret weapon.

"AHHHHHHHHHHH!"

I brought my muzzle to him, and licked. A long, slow lick at first, right from his dock to his scrotum. Then I sucked each mammoth nut for a few seconds, feeling the heat and bulk of those big orbs, before starting up the line of his taint. It was soft, smooth, a perfect line of sensitive skin unlike most of the guys I knew. Mark had a forest of curly hairs round his bearhole, and the bull last night had a dense thicket of brown fuzz there and loved me pulling some with me teeth before he fucked my brains out. Not Pete; totally smooth, and so very sensitive.

"Ahhhh..ohhh...fffuuuuck....ahhhhh...."

I hadn't even got to his hole yet. That wouldn't be long coming though. My first touch against his ring, just circling that muscle with the tip of my tongue, as I blew warm breath on his hole, and he almost shot off the chair his body jerked that wildly. He let out a screaming whinny, and his hole clenched so tight. I knew I had him.

No straight guy is prepared for their first really good rimming, I have found. And it totally wipes their defences. Pete had nothing to prepare him for it, and from the sounds he was making, not to mention the way his pucker was fluttering like a bird, it was getting to him way beyond my wildest dreams.

As I pressed my tongue against the centre of his tailhole, I waited a moment, licking gently, and ran my fingers along his sheath. There it was...he had started to drop, and I felt the twitch of his flare, poking just beyond his sheathlips. Not for long though, because as I pressed harder and felt his ring open wide, he gave a gasp, and a whinny, and his cock slid further out until it dropped to the cushion between his knees with a slap of flesh on vinyl. Thick, erectile flesh, already leaking.

His cock sprang upwards as I drove my tongue into his clenching hole, forcing my way in despite his attempts to close up tight, and I heard another wet sound as his flare this time slapped his abdomen before it hung, in midair, the end waggling a little as his magnificent horsehood filled with blood.

I had a good grip of his base, right near his sheath, and now I slid my paw along his length, feeling the life and the heat, until I cupped his flared end and rubbed in a slow circle over the most sensitive part of his anatomy. I knew he liked that, beyond anything else. A few times I had woken late at night, eyes open just a slit, to see the moonlight coming through our window illuminating a stallion in the throes of self pleasuring, oblivious to my attention.

He would lie there, bedclothes strewn awkwardly to the side, eyes scrunched tight, with one hand wrapped around his flare and the other on his balls, squeezing and rubbing until he lost his load into his hand and the tang of stallion cum filled the room. That was always how he ended, and I had him there now, with my husky paw instead of his big stallion mitt. I touched him like I remembered him touching himself, and felt the leak of precum against my skin.

Of course, when he pleasured himself, he never did what I was doing with my muzzle. I doubt it ever occurred to him that this could feel so good. Now he knew...and I pressed my lips against the skin of his ass, and sawed my tongue in deep and hard, deep and hard, stretching his reluctant ass, cajoling, coaxing, until it opened a little and I felt his body relax and the heat in his tunnel build.

I pulled his cock back and down, until it pointed straight down between his knees, and began a long series of strokes. My paw was soaked in stallion pre, and I moved easily over his flesh while my tongue ravished his private places and I felt the first stirrings in him as I pressed on a small nub of flesh. He screamed then, and his cock shot a line of thick pre into my paw, and I smoothed it over his length as I kept on jacking, the liquid making his pink and black mottled length glisten in the light.

I could feel him losing it. He let out a gasp, then a strangled cry of 'no!', then another, then a sudden moan. His cumtube pulsed, right along his length, and I felt it against my paw, alive, ready, and his ass suddenly clamped down hard on my tongue and wouldn't let go.

The heat built, and suddenly his cock gave a jerk, so hard I couldn't hold on and it slapped his belly. His tail rapped my forehead, and I smelt the smell again, and this time I had a ringside view.

I pulled my tongue free, sat back and watched in awe. There was a river of cum, everywhere, and it was still spurting from his tip. The flare was spread wider than I had ever seen, the urethra open and gushing a thick torrent of white stallion seed all over the lounge chair and Pete's chest.

And he was shaking, chest heaving like it did after a sprint across the football field. He was in very different territory now though, and Pete was sobering up.

"You...you cheated..."

I slapped his ass for that. "Take that back Pete!"

"You cheated! You said no muzzle!"

"I said I wouldn't suck your cock...never said anything about your ass. Now do you see what I mean mate? You straight guys have no idea."

He lifted his head off the back of the chair, turning to look at me with hurt and fear and a little bit of anger. I was sobering up a little too, and realised the big stallion might feel a little humiliated...but the bright pink of his muzzle and the glint in his eyes told me he was taking it all in, and dealing...his own way.

"Fine Al...you were right."

"More than that Pete." The beer still had me it seemed. I gave his ass another slap.

"What...?"

"Time to collect; unless you really are a chicken."

He closed his eyes, and rested his head on his hands. He was shaking again, and I thought he might even cry. He screwed up his eyes, like he did at night, pleasuring that magnificent horsehood when he thought I was asleep. I bent forward and planted a kiss on his rump, and he let out a startled nicker but didn't move from his position bent over the seat.

"Fine. Only this once. And you never tell anyone...clear?"

I nodded, eyes wide, watching him sigh and prepare himself. "What do you want to do Alister?"

Ahhh now that was the question. I watched that horsecock, still swaying between his thighs. It had shrunk a little, but was still fully dropped, and dripping with the spent cum of his unwanted orgasm. As I watched it began to harden a little, lifting from the cushion to hover in midair again, the flare pulsing in time to Pete's heartbeat.

I knew I wanted that, and I had since I first saw him jacking off late at night, imagining that thick horsecock plundering me the way I liked it, deep and without restraint. But the beer, the buzz, and the sheer kick of proving this straight stud wrong got to me. I wanted something different, something a little harder for Pete.

I left him there, not speaking at first. I went to my bedside cupboard and found what I was looking for, a large tube of lube and a box of canine condoms. I had bought the condoms when I first came to college, and it was still unopened. I was a virgin this way, still, just as Pete was. It was going to be a night of firsts for both of us.

He opened his eyes wide now, watching me. He was still on his knees, chest rising and falling, cock twitching even as he registered what was to happen to him. His hands were the first to react, gripping the seat back so hard he almost broke the wood.

"You don't..."

I gave him a wink. "Yep. You had a lot to say about anal play Petey, and I think I've taught you the error of your ways a little. But not the whole way...for that, you need to feel it all..."

I expected him to tell me to fuck off. I expected him to hit me, or yell, or storm out. He just watched me, eyes wide, staring, pleading. And his cock was hard as a rock, a long line of spent cum drooling from the tip to join the puddle on the cushion under his belly.

He saw me staring at his cock. His eyes suddenly registered astonishment, and he looked down, head tucked under his chest, staring at the reality of his unruly cock. Whatever his mind may think, his body had a different idea.

"No..." it wasn't a statement, it was a sigh.

"Yes...now, sit on the chair. I want you the other way round Pete."

He obeyed, almost in a trance. Even when his shapely muscled ass contacted a great puddle of his own cum, it didn't seem to make him stop. He was shaking all over, his tail flicking nervously, mane flicking side to side. He watched me as I carefully opened the box, pulling out the first foil covered condom, the bite to pull off a corner from the packet, the wiggle of the little latex bundle in my fingers. I rolled it on, careful to take the knot into account. It had swelled already, and I had to pull my sheath back behind the knot, exposing the red raw mass of my canine pride. My cock wasn't anything to write home about, certainly not compared to Pete's horse cock, but my knot was something to see. And Pete saw it, and I saw him swallow as I covered it in latex and then smothered the whole length in lube.

Kneeling between his thighs, I reached for his fetlocks, pulling both up and over my shoulders. His eyes were rolling again, wide and fearful, and yet something else was in them too, something almost accepting. Needy. The curious straight stud, and now his curiosity was going to be satisfied. I hoped that wasn't the only thing satisfied.

I had thought about taking him just as I had left him, kneeling on the chair, ass up and ready. I decided I wanted it this way though. I wanted him to watch, I wanted him to see his own deflowering, the slow penetration of cock in his straight ass, the look on my face, the strain as I took his virgin hole and made it mine. I wanted him to experience it all, not able to find a way to distance himself from it. I wanted to own him, and watch him being owned and knowing he was being owned.

I had found my inner top. And it took a straight stud stallion to bring it to the fore, but now I was in full on dominant top mode and I loved it.

When the tip of my cock touched his hole, I thought he might bolt. His whole body tensed, and I felt his pucker clamp tight. He was staring at the junction of cock and ass, the point of impact, my tip nicely tapered, just right to take an inexperienced virgin stallion gently if only he could realise it. He didn't seem to, from his expression.

I bent forward and kissed his muzzle. He responded, without thinking, and we shared a kiss before he pulled back.

"Relax you stupid horse. This won't hurt...unless you are stupid enough to fight it..."

I felt the flutter in his hole, trying to open. I reached for his cock, gripping just above the medial and running my paw along his length, feeling the mix of cum and lube from my paw making the passage of my fingers easy. All the way to his end, a fingertip tracing the flare.

I felt his ass relax suddenly, open and ready. My hips bucked, driving the tip and the broad head into his hole. He hissed, closing his eyes again, and his ass clamped down so tight.

"Shhhh...relax Pete. Look at me. Look at me!"

I don't know where it came from, that voice, not mine yet mine. Calm, commanding, hot. And Pete heard, and Pete obeyed. His eyes snapped open, and he looked at me, then down to the point again, where cock met ass. But this time, some of me was inside him, and his hole was spread round the red mass of a husky cock stretching his virgin opening.

I edged inside, back until just the tip was left inside him, then in a little deeper, more of my shaft disappearing into his phenomenally hot hole. It was like a furnace heat, and so tight, I wanted to be in there forever, and every time I pulled back I almost cried out from loss before sliding in again, taking more of that tunnel and feeling skin even through the latex. If I wasn't wearing one, I probably would have burst the moment I mounted the stud. As it was, I could barely contain the need to shoot.

I got into a rhythm, long and slow, stroking his length at the same pace as I took his ass. When I finally felt my knot touch his ring, he gave a great shudder and his eyes glazed, muzzle open with a little pink tongue poking out and a long sigh of regret drawn from his throat.

"It wasn't supposed to feel like this, was it Pete?"

"I...I...I...um..."

"Shhh stud. Just enjoy."

With his hooves over my shoulders, his thighs fat with muscle against my chest, and his raging hardon in my paws, the pleasure was all mine too. And of course, with my doggy cock buried in his hole, feeling the heat of a straight stud all around me, every twitch in his tunnel was a symphony of triumph. I was in charge, and he was mine, all mine. And it pleased me to please him, even though he may find that hard to take. I also wanted to feel all of him, and I fumbled for his rugby top, pulling the offending garment off him to throw it across the room. I didn't want anything between me and my stallion. I wanted skin on skin, fur on fur. And I wanted his orgasm, I could almost taste it.

Taste it...the thought was the deed.

Bending my muzzle forward, and pulling his long horsecock up, I wrapped my muzzle around his tip and began to suckle, just as I started ramming my hips harder into a hot deep fuck. His cries and whinnies were lost in a chorus of muscular slaps, my hips against his butt, knot against his ring. And then I got careless, or wild, or needy, or all three, and I used all my force and slammed against him with a growl deep in my throat and slid my lips down to the medial.

The first hard thrust almost did it, and his body convulsed a little at the feeling of my knot battering his virgin ring. The second did it, and I felt him spread wide, sinking in deeper and burying my knot to the hilt in his hole, so tight, so painfully tight around me I almost cried out too.

His whinny of shock and indignation was like finest booze. I wanted more, so I pulled back spreading his already abused pucker and ramming in deeper still, feeling the slide of knot against well spread anal lips and flesh. He was in spasm now, muscles in a universe of new and troubling sensation, his first fuck, his first knot, his first deep dicking in one. I pushed him down on the chair, legs bent double, and thrust again, this time feeling his little nut against my shaft on the way in. His flare blossomed in my muzzle and I tasted sweet liquid, on and on, a second river of horse cum as his ass tried to cut my knot in two.

I was close. Oh so close. But not yet...and when his orgasm subsided, he looked up to see me grinning madly with his seed dripping from my muzzle, bared in a feral grin with incisors showing.

"Want me to finish it Pete?"

"P...please..."

"Beg..."

"Please!"

My hips rolled into a series of shallow fast thrusts, nailing his prostate, knot still buried in him. His poor ass relaxed finally, pummeled into submission, but it wasn't over yet. I wanted more.

"Beg..."

"Oh God please...please...please...PLEASE!"

He sounded so desperate...and so hot. I bent forward and kissed him, and he responded, tongues duelling deep in his throat. I tasted him, and he tasted him too, a muzzlefull of his own cum, but he didn't break the kiss. I felt him under me, broken, fucked, taken, and the kiss tasted so good. My cock felt it too, and before I could stop myself, I burst, flooding the condom inside him as my own orgasm took hole.

I didn't realise I had broken the kiss until I tasted blood, metallic and sharp in my muzzle. I had my teeth clamped on his shoulder, sometime during my climax, a plump ball of muscle I had admired more than once when he casually pumped iron in our room, the muscle groups all popped and flexed under his coat. They tasted as good as his muzzle, better even; sweat, musky sweat. The taste of jock stud.

Not as good as his cock though, and nowhere near as good as his ass.

As I held him, in the afterglow, he looked so lost. I kissed him, belly, chest, nipple, neck, shoulder where I had bitten, licking to soothe the hurt, then muzzle. He still looked lost, but also grateful.

"Ahh...Al...um..."

"Pete, my knot is still swollen, if I try to pull out, well..."

He nodded, and relaxed into the seat, eyes closed while I stroked his mane. It took a while, like that, but eventually I subsided enough to pull out without breaking his ass. The damage was bad enough, I could see his lips all red and puffy and well spread when I examined the damage. I gave him a thumbs up, but he wasn't convinced.

"Mate, the cream you used...could you, could you give me some?"

In some ways that was the sexiest look of all, spread naked on his own bed on his tummy, while he let me tend to his ass. All the time, he sucked on his beer, staring at the wall, tail swishing softly side to side as if nothing had happened. Of course it had, and even a straight stud can't make what we did go away. He can try though.

It was two weeks later before anything happened. The following Sunday we had watched football, just as before, not a word spoken. Then a week after that, again in our room, we talked about girls and fucking and sex and all the things we had started talking about. I hadn't had a fuck the previous night, and I was hot to trot. Pete was still dancing around the girl of his dreams, and our talk had him dropped and ready. I looked at his bulge, remembering the feel of his cock in my paws, the way his cumtube looked when he came. He looked at me, looking at him. I gave him a knowing grin.

It started with a wank, like last time. A long, teasing wank, with my paw on his length, and my muzzle on his ass. This time the idea wasn't to bring him to the boil fast though. This time the idea was to make him wait. I had talked about edging, denial, the painful pleasure of orgasm after an hour of patient buildup like Mark had taught me. He didn't believe I could make him wait that long, and the banter became a dare became a bet again.

It was amazing what being slightly drunk can make ok. Even for a straight stud.

It started with a wank, and a rimjob, and a deep ass eating, but it didn't end that way. He broke, after an hour and a half, leaking so much it looked like he had cum though he hadn't.

This time I had him on the bed, lying down on his tummy, my favourite view. He buried his head in the pillows and let out the cutest grunts and cries as I eased into his hole, fresh pains for a newly recovered stallion pucker as I tied him and prodded his nut until he came into his bedding and I shot off in his depths and rested on his back with my muzzle in his mane.

Lying like that, in the perfect calm after orgasm, with the bulk of a muscled stud horse under me, I let my mind drift. And my muzzle found his ear, soft and delicate, and nuzzled against it.

"I love you..." I whispered.

His whole body went rigid.

I don't know who was more surprised, Pete or me.

"Al, get off me!"

I stuttered. "P..Pete...but...knot...swollen..."

"I don't care, get the fuck off me!"

I pulled out, feeling the withdrawal almost as much as Pete. He gritted his teeth and nickered, then rolled over and stomped to the clothes hamper by his bed. As I watched, a little stunned, wondering where the fuck that had come from, he pulled on a tracksuit and snatched a towel from the pile of potent smelling horse bathwear, and clopped off to the showers. I heard each and every hoof fall all the way down the corridor.

When he came back, he wouldn't look at me.

"Pete..."

"Save it. Just...I don't know what. Just don't speak."

I had crossed the line, the real line. The toughest line of all. And there was no going back, not ever.

It took a few weeks before we returned to something like normality, but it was never quite the same again. Nothing physical, and no talk of sex. When he finally got up the courage to make a move on the girl of his dreams, she said yes, and he never told me what they did, not for a while at least. And they always had their evenings in her room.

Only once, towards the end of the year, did the façade break a little. We were watching sport again, drinking beer, and he burped like a colt, and looked guilty like he did, and gave me that sheepish grin like he did.

"You were right, by the way."

I was taken by surprise, and had no idea what he was talking about. "Right...about what?"

"Guys do know how to please guys better than girls..."

I gave him a bro smile. "Sandra?"

He nodded. "She...is enthusiastic but, ahhh hell...but I'm learning how to give her good head so, I'm hoping she wants to learn."

"Ever get her to touch you...well, you know..."

It was funny to watch him squirm a little, the way his ass clenched, his tail swished. I could almost imagine the feeling in his tailhole, the itch, the burn I had planted. It would always be there, and even with Sandra, he would know he was missing something.

"No. I...no."

A short sentence full of regret. I couldn't leave it there though, bad doggy that I am. Before he left at the end of the year, we had a final booze session and I gave him his Christmas present. One canine dildo, complete with knot. He never would tell me if he used it, but the blush at his muzzle told me the answer was yes.

Afterwards, I had many chances to wonder about the three little words that brought our experimentation to a shuddering halt. I think a part of me did love him, or at least the idea of him. That part found voice in the warm glow after sex, but I knew it wasn't to be. And maybe it was for the best, stopping the rest of me falling for him and a genuine heartbreak instead of the pang of loss I did have.

He wasn't the last though. Now I knew myself better again, and I knew a part of me enjoyed being a willing bottom for a proper daddy, and part of me liked being a dominant top leading a straight stud astray and into places he wasn't prepared for. And ever since, I've had my share of both.

I did find someone though, to be with. And though he denies it, I knew Mark wanted to settle down when I first met him, though I let him convince me it wasn't so. By the end of my university undergraduate years we had hooked up so many times and so regularly we both had to sit down and admit maybe this was something more than sex, though we also knew it wasn't all that either of us wanted. Which was just fine for me; I had a plan.

Tonight is another one of our special nights. Claude is a second year, a French exchange student and a big bull stud in the varsity rugby team. He is a student in my department, but thankfully he isn't one of my students, I do draw the line there, but I have helped him a few times. And he is curious...

He took a bit of convincing, as they all do, even Pete. But for some the curiosity burns like the itch in Pete's ass, and I know how to scratch that itch.

When they are willing, I share it with Mark. I can't describe how good it feels, when you have a straight guy kneeling in front of you just like I made Pete do, muzzle pressed to his ass, hearing all those moans and cries as he gets his first ass eating, and just as I spread his hole and tongue him I feel my daddy bear slide under my tail, knowing he is watching me rimming the straight stud while he pounds my hole. It makes him extra hot, watching me like that, seeing my tongue on a young straight tailhole, paw on a leaking cock. And he takes it out on me the way I like best, a long hard no mercy fucking until my raw ass can take no more.

If they are adventurous, I get them to straddle Mark's muzzle afterwards, still kneeling on the bed. With my daddy bear on their cock, they lose all control. And I love watching him spread their ass cheeks for me with his big thick fingers, a little winking pucker ready for some knot. I must admit none has come close to the sheer thrill of my stallion, years ago, or the feel of the first time I tied him and felt his body clenching my flesh so tight I thought I could never escape. I've also never told any of them I love them though, which is just as well.

Mark can be jealous, and play is one thing. What I felt for Pete is another thing again.

Yeah, I still miss the stupid horse, I admit it. And if I imagine him against me when I paw off on the nights Mark is on the road, that's something Mark doesn't need to know. Still, one day, maybe; one day, I might get Pete on our bed, like Claude will be tonight.

A dog can dream. Meanwhile, I have a date with a hot curious straight French bull, and a big daddy bear. There are worse ways to spend the night. And I know I wont be saying any 'I love you's' to spoil things.

When those nights do come though, and my thoughts turn to thoughts of straight stallion, I have at least got something to hold onto. When I gave Pete my Christmas present, he was all embarrassed because he didn't have anything for me, and he asked me what I wanted. It shocked the fuck out of him, but he gave it to me. One reason I still have those thoughts about him.

Buried deep in my cupboard is the rugby top Pete was wearing the first time we fucked. And in true Pete style, he hadn't washed it for ages, and it stank of him, a pure intoxicating brew of young stud horse. It still smells of him today, and when I take it to bed I can remember the feel and the sound of my first time as a top, and my first straight stud.

Not even a young French stud bull can top that. Sorry Claude, but c'est la vie.