A Day in the Life
"A Day in the Life"
by K.M. Hirosaki ([email protected])
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This story and all characters are copyright (c) 2006 K.M. Hirosaki.
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Okay, so I'm down on my knees and I've got a cock in my mouth. If you know me, you're not going to believe me when I say that I really wasn't expecting this, and if you don't know me, maybe you won't believe me anyway. "Yeah, right--you're 'accidentally' giving the coyote a blowjob." Come on. It's not like you can just "accidentally" end up giving someone a blowjob.
Well, no, that's not exactly true. This is an accident, right here. It's only 10:15 AM. The weekend doesn't officially start for another seven hours, and on just about any other week, even I wouldn't expect to be going down on someone for at least another seven and a half. This all just sort of... happened.
Right. Let's rewind to when all this started, back about... oh, must be three minutes ago, by now. I'm pretty sure that the coyote in question--Chaz, our Associate Sales Manager--wasn't expecting to have me in the position I'm currently in, either, but I'm blaming him for the whole situation. Maybe I'm not complaining, but I still say it's his fault.
You know what it's like when you pass a coworker in the hallway or something, and you accidentally make eye contact for a moment or two longer than necessary, and you end up staring awkwardly at one another for no reason? You know, and then one of you invariably makes some kind of silly facial expression? That's what happened with Chaz and I a few minutes ago. Chaz just sort of jokingly made eyes at me when we'd gotten locked in that awkward stare, and even fully knowing that he couldn't have been serious, I guess that I was just in a bit a mood (what with it being the cusp of the weekend and all), and so I made eyes back at him.
The difference of course being that I'm actually into guys, and so my little eyebrow wiggle and casual up-down glance has got to be more convincing than Chaz's. Now, I don't know Chaz all that well, seeing as he's in a different department and all, but I think he's got a fiancée or a girlfriend; when I gave him that flirty look, I expected him to either just chuckle and brush it off, or maybe look sort of weirded out. I didn't expect him to drag me off into the IT closet like he did.
I don't know what it was about that look that got such a strong reaction. I mean, I like to think that I'm a pretty hot-looking fox and all, but when I give most guys the look I gave Chaz, they usually take it as, "Hey, I think you're pretty cute," and not, "I want you to stuff my little muzzle full of dick." Hell, if I could master that second one, I think I'd be looking forward to my weekends even more.
Well, whatever. All I know is that Chaz got me into the IT closet with him, shut the door, and then pushed a paw down at one of my shoulders. Now, if you want to talk unsubtle, that's unsubtle. Next thing you know, there I am, nostrils filled with the musky scent of aroused coyote, and then, a moment later, Chaz just up and whips his dick out without saying a word.
Still, just because I hadn't been expecting all this didn't mean that I didn't want to go along with it, and besides, it'd be rude to back out now.
So, I start to suck. Chaz isn't the tallest guy you'll ever meet, but it turns out he's pretty nicely hung--a bit more than a mouthful, at any rate. I like that when it comes to canines, though, and I let out a throaty little moan to let him know that I think so. My fingers tug down the waistband of his slacks so that I can have more room to work at him, and also so that he can relax his legs a little bit; clearly, this is Chaz's first time getting a blowjob in an enclosed space (and yeah, as you might be thinking, it's not my first time giving one under such conditions).
Speaking of that, it suddenly dawns on me that the IT closet doesn't lock from the inside. I hope that nobody needs a new keyboard within the next few minutes. I mean, I don't want (what I'm guessing to be) Chaz's first-and-only male-given blowjob to be marred by an untimely walk-in. I'm not too worried about getting fired or anything like that, what since I've been blowing the boss about two or three times a month since... well, pretty much since I started working here, now that I think of it.
One still needs to take certain things into consideration, though. With one of my hands, I hold my tie in against my chest, so that I don't get drool or spittle or anything on it as I start to work my snout back and forth along Chaz's shaft. He's an excited boy this morning, too, and I can feel him shuddering with nervousness; it's a distinct kind of shuddering, different from the sort that comes with pleasure, but I'll have him there soon enough.
I take my other hand and I use it to take hold of the base of the coyote's shaft. He's pretty long, and since I'm not exactly going slow and delicate on him with my mouth, I want to be able to hold him steady. Also, that lets me play with his knot as it starts to swell and thicken--and I'm doing a good job of getting that to happen quickly, too. I open one eye and look at my wristwatch, glowing dully against Chaz's thigh. 10:17. My bet is that I can get out of here before 10:20. No way is this dog going to last that long, not with the way that he's already panting.
I'd almost feel like I was shortchanging myself by rushing things, but I've got a whole weekend ahead of me, and I'm more than reasonably sure (even if I really don't have any magical, sure-kill flirty glances) that there'll be more cock to suck in my very near future. When I think about it that way, then I can focus more on just how naughty I'm being, and that makes up for things.
Chaz's knot is already close to what I'm assuming is full, because it feels pretty tight and it's not growing nearly as fast as it was. I slide my fingers back a little ways, so that I can bump my lips against the edge of that firm little bulge, mostly just so that I can show off my talents. Whoever Chaz's lady-friend is, I'm willing to bet that she doesn't deep-throat him (and even if she did, she'd probably cough and sputter and then complain about it afterwards).
My ministrations aren't lost on him. That's a good boy. I pull my head back a few inches and seal my lips down nice and tight around his shaft. Then, the coyote grabs my ear and gives it a good, solid tug. Oh, fuck, that's hot. He probably doesn't have a clue how much I get off on having my ears pulled and yanked about like little triangle-shaped handles when I'm going down on someone; most likely, he just wants to make sure I don't pull off of his cock. That means he's close.
So, that's when I decide that he's earned it. I take my paw, I wrap it back around his knot, and then I squeeze it like I'm trying to wring the juice out of a lemon. That makes him just surge right past whatever limits he has, and I can feel him surging into my muzzle right before he lets out a quick bark. His head snaps back in pleasure, and I can hear a dull crack as he whacks it back against one of the shelves, causing a poorly-balanced box of printer cables to fall off and land on the floor next to me. It sounded to me like that must've hurt, but he doesn't show any signs of pain, and I can't really spend too much time caring, since I've got to focus on swallowing so that I don't dribble semen down all over my shirt.
Only when Chaz is good and empty does he finally release my ear, and I rest my rump back on my ankles as I catch my breath again. There's just enough dim light in the closet that I can see the goofy-but-appreciative smile that he has for me, and I just smile right on back as I take both of my paws and cinch his slacks back up.
I get to my feet. Chaz opens the closet door, slips out, and hangs a left down the corridor. I wait a few moments, slip out, close the door behind me, and hang a right. Trying not to grin like an absolute idiot, I check my watch. 10:19.
Walking just a tiny bit faster than I usually do, I make my way back to my desk, and I grab my little mug, toothbrush, and toothpaste kit that I keep at work. And before you even ask, no, I don't keep it around for just this sort of emergency. I'll have you know that I brush my teeth every afternoon after I get back from lunch. It never hurts to practice good hygiene.
At a moment like this, though, I'm still thankful that I do practice good hygiene, since I work with a lot of canids and all. I skip off to the bathroom, give my teeth a good, thorough brushing, put my things back, and when I sit down for my 10:30 meeting, nobody looks at me like they can tell that I just blew the Associate Sales Manager.
After the meeting, but before lunch, I'm still ridiculously horny, though. The anticipation that comes at the end of a workweek is bad enough when you're not obsessively thinking back to your early morning round of random oral sex. I try to distract myself by staring at my spreadsheet, telling myself that if quarterly numbers can't kill the mood, nothing can. Despite my best efforts, though, I can't ignore the tingling in my sheath that refuses to go away.
That'd make for a pretty funny performance review, though, wouldn't it? Motivation to be a team player is high, but craves cock too much, resulting in a marked inability to finish key tasks in a timely manner.
I chuckle to myself, but I'm still worked up to the point of discomfort. Knowing me, I'm going to give myself a damp spot on the front of my pants in another minute or two, so... aw, fuck it. I kick at the floor, wheel my chair around, and I get up to head back to the bathroom. Nothing suspicious about heading to the bathroom before lunch, right?
The trick here is, again, to watch out for coworkers with a keen sense of smell. I can't really take my time to enjoy things, unfortunately; I just need to get off so that I can, y'know, actually get the rest of my work done today. By the time I've sat down in the stall farthest from the door, pants around my ankles, I'm already halfway out of my sheath and working up a nice, steady drizzle. With one paw, I pull at the roll of toilet paper, tearing enough to bunch up into a sizeable wad. With my other paw, I start to stroke myself, and that definitely gets my scent out into the air.
All of the thoughts floating through my mind--memories of the morning and my hopes for the weekend--make me really, really wish that I could savor myself, but someone could walk on in through the door any second. I bite my lower lip, fighting off the urge to tease my tip or toy with my knot, and I whimper. Instead, I let my black-furred fingers fly, pumping away with the urgency of a teenager hiding himself under the sheets when he knows that Mom and Dad are still awake in the other room. The sounds of slickness strike my ears pretty nicely, though, and since I know just how I like to be touched, it's not long before I know that just one solid squeeze will finish me off.
I bring the loose wad of crumpled toilet paper into position, and I tense my fingers down around my knot, grunting out a moment's worth of frustration before my throat clenches up to bite out a yip of pleasure. I'm sort of dizzy, and so I have to try extra hard to keep my other paw steady so that I don't miss any of my erratic spurts; the last one--of course--almost goes wide, but I manage to catch it against my wrist and the side of my paw.
Panting softly, I drop the sticky wad of toilet paper down into the bowl between my legs, and I rip myself off a few more sheets in order to pat myself dry. I flush, get my pants up, and practically leap from the stall to the sink, hurriedly washing my paws. When I'm done, I give the air a few testing sniffs: all clear.
I scamper back to my desk and start to work my dry little paws over the keyboard at the telltale, frenzied pace of someone trying to finish up that One Last Thing before leaving for lunch. I'm actually a little bit behind, which is no surprise, but it's not like anyone's looking over my shoulder, and I'll have the whole afternoon to catch up.
Lunch rolls around, and, still nervous and twitchy from the morning's antics, I decide to go and eat by myself at this little bistro across the street. It's nothing too fancy, but I'm not all that hungry. What I am, though, is distracted, and it's not too long before I start regretting the fact that I'm not with coworkers. Conversation--any sort of conversation, even just low-key office banter--would be a welcome distraction, because even after having just gotten off, I can't help but keep thinking about how I just got away with everything I just got away with.
How is that not supposed to get me worked up again? Hell, it's like I've set a precedent for myself today: how many orgasms can I sneak in under the radar while on company time?
Fuck, that's a dangerous line of thinking. That's what I tell myself, at least, and I go back to my little toasted sandwich and my bottle of mineral water. Now I wish I were hungrier; it'd help me focus. As it is, I'm so fidgety that I'm surprised I'm not mock-fellating the neck of my bottle when I sip from it.
I finish eating with another half hour remaining before I need to be back at my desk. Maybe a walk will clear my head. As I take a stroll around the block, though, I keep giving the once-over to folks walking past me. There's a cougar in a handsome business jacket, looking like a big-time CEO, and I fantasize about him dragging me into a nearby alley and pushing my down onto my knees behind a dumpster. There's Kenny, the short little wolf who works as a barista at the coffee shop at the end of the street that I hit every morning before I go into the office, and when we exchange little waves and smiles of acknowledgment, I wonder how he'd react if I told him about my little adventure in the IT closet.
Come to think of it, there's probably a better than fifty-fifty chance that Kenny's into guys. I make a note to drop some hints the next time I get my latte from him.
I try to remind myself that I've only got a little more than four hours to go before I'm free for the weekend, and then I can indulge in debauchery as much as I want. Besides, if I don't get my work done on the quarterly reports, then the whole company suffers, and no amount of extramarital oral sex is going to be able to keep the boss from canning me for that.
There: that's a nice, sobering thought. Getting your job done is your friend, because without your job, you don't have money, and without money, you can't by those hot little outfits that make other boys want to rip them off of your body. Get back to your desk and focus on the numbers, fox.
I get back to the office, and I still technically have another ten minutes before I need to be back from my lunch break, but in the interest of making up lost time, I grab my toothbrush kit to freshen up (see, I told you!), and then I sit back down at my desk. I feel a bit antsy, still, but I can focus. Besides, while I might not have the most exciting job in the world, it at least takes actual brainpower to do, and once I get started on it, it quickly takes up the bulk of my conscious cycles.
The clock ticks by, and I manage to stay devoted to the task at hand. That pleases me. I mean, I do take a sense of pride in my work, and I like to think that I have a pretty good work ethic (well, on most days, at any rate). My satisfaction with my minor success at staying focused makes me more motivated, and I start to work faster.
Just shy of two hours, I realize that I'm burning through my workload ahead of schedule, and I figure that I'll be able to finish up for the week with time to spare.
As soon as that thought sparks inside my head, I know that I've just triggered my own downfall.
My brain instantly switches gears. Now, almost against my will, I find myself trying to calculate just how much time I'll have to spare, and just how many ways I can narrowly avoid getting in trouble within said time. Inwardly, I try to admonish myself, but some other part of me just takes that as encouragement.
Okay, hypothetical question: if you're at a gay bar, and you bump into (and I mean literally bump into) a coworker--a coworker to whom you'd never dream of outing yourself to, no mind--what do you do?
Why, you smile at each other in surprise and recognition, engage in some mutually supportive banter relating to your lifestyle, and then proceed to hang all over them for the rest of the night until they finally drag you back to their place and fuck you in the ass, of course!
I cue up the office scheduler and check to see who has booked what for the rest of the day. My little plan requires something a bit more spacious than the IT closet (well, maybe it doesn't require it, but it wouldn't exactly be comfortable). I double check, and then I triple check, and then I smile in satisfaction. Then, as quickly-but-carefully as I can, I finish up the next section of the document I'm working on, and then I get up and pad my way over to Donnelly's cubicle.
Donnelly's one of those skunks that I'm really jealous of--you know, because he's one of those skunks that can have a kind of feminine softness to their features that doesn't at all offset the general impression of maleness that they give off. We foxes with even just a tiny bit of a less-than-masculine factor to our appearance could all probably pass for vixens with just a little bit of effort and makeup. In a skunk like Donnelly's case, it's just kind of hot.
"Hey, Don?" I ask, peeking me head into the skunk's cube, holding my paws at the side. He turns around in his chair, and looks surprised to see me. "Can I see you in the Sunset Conference Room in about ten minutes?"
"Huh?" he asks, retaining that look of confusion. "Uh, sure. What for?"
I don't say anything; I just look him right in the eye and show a bit of fang in my smile. It takes a few seconds, but I can slowly see revelation dawning on the skunk's face. His jaw drops partway in disbelief. "Wait, are you serious?" he asks.
"Ten minutes," I reply, giving my tail a flighty little swish as I turn back around and head back to my own cube. I get back to work, but I don't get too much accomplished, because I can't get that too-cute look on Donnelly's face out of my head. There's no way that he didn't get the message, there.
I make sure that I'm in Sunset Conference Room a minute ahead of time, just to ensure that I'm already waiting for him when he shows up. I leave the lights turned off. Right on schedule, the skunk pokes his head in. Slipping inside, he looks at me with giddy trepidation, and he doesn't take his eyes off of me as he shuts the door behind himself with a soft 'click.'
"So," he murmurs, wringing his paws together in front of himself as he steps closer to me. He's obviously resigned himself to the fact that I wasn't kidding, too, because I can spot the hard-on through his pants even with the lack of light . "To what do I owe this pleasure?"
I close the rest of the space between us with two quick strides, and I use both paws to grab him by the collar and drag him down to my level. He lets out a quick gasp, and I bring my muzzle to his ear to whisper, "Shut up and fuck me."
That's all the encouragement he needs; there's the sound of metal and fumbling as he hurries to undo his belt and pants, and I turn around and do the same. He has a tougher time with it than I do, and before he can finish getting his own pants off, I'm already naked from the waist down, with my paws braced against the conference table and my tail flagged up.
Out of the corner of my eye, I check to make sure that Donnelly actually did lock the door when he came in. He did. Good. Nobody's scheduled to use this conference room for the rest of the afternoon, either, and so hopefully, nobody will wander in afterwards and get hit with the lingering smell of sex.
My guess is that Donnelly hasn't thought that far ahead, but then again, that doesn't matter since I've done all the thinking for him. All he needs to do is get behind me, fuck the fox, and then we can mosey on back to our desks and wrap up the day. It's almost elegant in its simplicity.
What happens next, though, isn't exactly 'elegant.' It's not rough or coarse or anything, but the few staggered thrusts that it takes the skunk to work his cock up under my tail aren't really smooth or graceful, either. He grunts under his breath, and so do I. He's got a pretty nice dick, being just a little big longer and a little bit thicker than average, but without having any real time for prep, here, it's sort of uncomfortable at first.
I bear with it, though, because I know it'll all be worth it, and all too quickly, it is. The skunk is as leaky as all fuck, and this isn't the first time I've let a guy fuck me without lube or foreplay, and so things get a lot easier pretty fast. Donnelly's thrusts stay unsteady, but they're at least a lot smoother as he goes, and the quick pounding he gives me has me nice and hard without a lot of effort. I almost want to start jerking off, but even in my current state of mind, I know that the last thing I want to do is create any suspicious stains for the execs to find after the weekend.
Donnelly leans over me at an angle that, given our differences in height, makes it too awkward for me to try to shove my weight back into his lap as he pumps into me, and so I just set all my leverage forward on the table. My hope is that he'll feel that I'm nice and stable, and take it upon himself to put more force behind his hips. It's not like I'm going to complain or feel unsatisfied if he doesn't, but while I'm already being naughty anyway...
The skunk hits into me at a sharper angle, and his tip jabs my right in the prostate. I let out a sharp yip before I think better, and I fold my ears back; odds are, a squeak like that carried right through the door and the walls, and if anyone was walking by, especially someone with good ears, there'd be no way to miss it. Aw, well. It was just one slip. If you hear something like that at the office in the middle of the afternoon, you'd probably just think that you were hearing things.
I'm distracted again a moment later, because Donnelly digs his claws into my hip and my shoulder and starts to shorten his thrusts. He's close: I can feel it in his movements and I can hear it in his breath. Keeping my voice as quiet as I can, I try to groan back to him in encouragement. Whether or not he hears it (or cares), his panting gets nice and raspy, and he stuffs his face down between my shoulder blades, stifling his own groan as his hips come to a sudden stop.
I feel him nose at my cheek and then at my ear, and he murmurs, "Good fox," to me. I smile, and then shift out from underneath him as he stands back up, carefully sliding out of me. He gives me a pat on the butt, reaches down to pick up his pants, and cinches them back up around his waist before heading back to the door. I continue to lie against the table for a little bit longer, spacing out as the pleasant tingling under my tail throbs as a nice reminder of the last few minutes.
For a quickie, that was actually pretty good. Donnelly's not too shabby a fuck, either. I don't know if I'd ever want to date him, what with the whole coworker weirdness and all, but I certainly wouldn't mind taking the time to... well, take our time some night. That'll have to wait for another day, though.
Donnelly sneaks back out, and I linger behind for another minute or so before leaving the conference room myself, such as not to arouse suspicion. Anyone who gets close enough for me is going to be able to smell skunk and sex all over me, and there's no way I'm going to be able to get all of that out here at the office. I can't really do much at all, so I head over to the break room and get a packet of instant coffee grounds; I tear it open, rub it through my hands, and then dash some through my pelt under my shirt. It's going to be itchy, but anyone who gives me a sniff will smell the coffee before they smell anything else, and hopefully, they won't try to smell any deeper than that (besides, at the office, that sort of thing is just rude, anyway).
My rear end is still pleasantly sore and tender when I get back to my desk. That's all I really need to occupy the back of my mind as I use the remaining two hours and change to finish up my reports--after all, it's not like my mind needs to wander very far. Even better, I'm still ahead of schedule when I finish up for the day.
A group of coworkers swings by my desk just before quitting time. They're all heading out for a couple of drinks, and they ask me to come along. Chaz is with them, but he's conspicuously silent. I offer up a smile, though, and shake my head. "Sorry, guys," I say, and I do mean it. "Already got myself a date lined up."
The guys seem disappointed, but they don't press the issue. They head out, and I gather up my things and power down my computer. I've got a spring in my step as I head back to the parking lot and get in my car. All too often, I end up staying late at this time of year, and so it's like a little extra bonus that I'm actually leaving on time.
Also, I do have something of a date. At least, that's the plan. My buddy A.J. is one of the cutest little rabbits you'll ever lay your eyes on, but he can be something of a flake, too. He's bailed on me at the last minute more than once (usually because "some guy he met the other day" decided to give him a call), but I've got a good vibe about today. Really, everything else has worked in my favor so far.
The commute back goes by pretty quickly, though it feels like longer because I'm so excited. I manage to resist the urge to run any red lights (though I do scream through a few yellows). By the time I pull into my parking space at my apartment complex, I can feel my fur all over bristling with anticipation.
I hop my way up the stairs to the third floor, and the first thing I see is A.J., already waiting for me, leaning up against the door to my apartment. He's wearing a pair of denim cutoffs and a black croptop that shows off his tan-and-mocha pelt at his midriff, so I know that he's ready for tonight.
"You're early," I say to him with a smile, fishing into my pocket for my keys. A.J., like me, works a nine-to-fiver job, and so I'm surprised that he's already here and dressed to go.
"Couldn't wait," the rabbit replies with a coy grin, stepping away from my door so that I can open it up. "Decided to head home a little early today. Besides, it was kind of tough concentrating on work, anyway."
I laugh, shake my head, and step inside. "I know how you feel," I say, dropping my bag in the entryway. I turn around to motion for A.J. to follow, but he's already slipped in behind me. He squeezes his way past me and the wall, and hops his way over to take a seat on my couch. I loosen my tie and undo the top button of my shirt before following him.
"So, you think you're going to land that raccoon of yours tonight?" the rabbit asks me, kicking back against the sofa cushions.
I plop down next to him. "I already landed him last week," I say, poking him in the shoulder. "Remember?"
"I dunno," he says, lolling his head back. "I was pretty trashed. So, does that mean he's open?"
"He's all yours if you want him," I say. "He wasn't all that great, though. I don't think you'd like him."
A.J. lets out a sigh through his nostrils. "Ah, whatever," he says. "I don't know if I'm in the mood for raccoon, anyway."
"You'll have the whole night to make up your mind," I tease, slipping off of the couch and getting down onto my knees in front of him. I unbutton my shirtsleeves, then, and start to undo the front of the rabbit's shorts.
He smiles back down at me, and it's a little, friendly sort of smile. A.J. and I have this little ritual where, before we head out to the clubs together, we get each other off. It's sort of a dual-purpose thing: on the one hand, it helps us to keep our cool when we're out there scooping for guys, and plus, it serves as a nice... aperitif, I guess you could say, for the evening's events.
A.J.'s not hard when I get his shorts open, but that's sort of typical. There's not a lot of sexual tension between us, and we're fairly free with each other's bodies; because of that familiarity, though, it doesn't take too long for me to get him hard. "So, do you have your outfit picked out for tonight?" he asks in a soft voice as I begin rubbing my fuzzy fingertips up and down his shaft.
"Sure do," I reply, leaning in to kiss him right on the tip as he starts firming up under my attention. "I think you'll like it."
"Yeah?" he asks, bringing his paw to one of my ears, stroking it just how I like it when I'm taking things slow. "Is it another new one, I take it?"
I nod in reply, but I don't use any words, because I choose that moment to take the rabbit's tip into my mouth. I give it a kind of kiss without breaking the seal of my lips, and then I flick my tongue over the tiny slit at the end. A.J. squirms against the cushions, and he almost coughs his next sigh of pleasure. He doesn't usually get so sensitive so quickly, and so I can only guess that he was less aggressive that me in his attempts to try to sate his urges.
A.J. lets his thumb dip further into my ear. "So, what kind of outfit is it?" he asks, and before I can pull off to answer, he gives his hips a quick thrust upward. He likes to tease me like that, sometimes, if he's in the right mood. He's pretty much a total bottom when it comes to the bedroom, but he's not without his assertive side.
When he settles back down, I pull my muzzle off of him and replace it with my paw. "Sort of like yours," I say. "Nice and revealing, as always."
"Don't even know why you feel you need that," the rabbit replies with a smirk. "One look at your pretty muzzle should bring most guys around." He takes his paw and strokes along my whiskers.
"Well, if that was all I was after, I could just stay here with you," I jibe right back, winking at him before taking his cock back into my mouth. He starts to chuckle, but it changes into another moan before he finishes.
There aren't any more attempts at teasing or joking after that; the way that A.J. plays with my ears and cheeks lets me know that he knows we're past playing. He gets more tense by the moment, and he lets it happen, lets me just suck his dick like I have time and time before. I work at his sensitive spots, without holding back, and I don't stop until I finally feel him spurt up into the back of my mouth.
I swallow, then slide my lips back slowly, so that I've got a smile on my face as his tip pops free. He smiles back at me, and I pat him on the knee and thigh as I drag myself back up to my feet.
"Now, then," A.J. says, taking both paws and hooking them into the front of my pants. "Let's get to work on you, then, foxy."
With one hand, I ruffle the fur between the rabbit's ears, and with the other, I brush his paws away from my belt buckle. "You know, I think that'd do me more harm than good right now," I say, showing him a quirky smile. "Plus, I need to take a shower before I get changed, too."
"Aww," he says, rubbing his paw slowly up and down my crotch, without getting any sort of reaction from within my pants. "You sure?"
"Tell you what," I say, proceeding to unbutton the rest of my shirt as I head for the back hall. "If midnight rolls around, and it doesn't look like either of us are getting anywhere, you can suck my dick all you want."
As I close the door to my bathroom, I can hear him call out, "I'm going to hold you to that!" I let myself chuckle. There's no doubt in my mind that A.J. will be able to find himself a cock to suck tonight. Not when he's dressed like that.
I don't want to spend too long in the shower, but I want to be thorough. Some folks will get turned on if they smell another guy all over you when you're flirting with them, but most aren't too keen on it, in my experience. Besides, sitting in an office chair for two hours after getting pounded under the tail is leaving me feeling... well, yeah, let's not get into those details.
Once I'm clean and dry, I go into my bedroom. The outfit I picked out this morning is laid out on my bed, and I feel giddy as I get myself into it. My top is a rich, brown-black leather vest that hangs open, with three silver chains that span the gap over the white fur of my chest and belly. Below that, I tug on a pair of matching leather shorts that barely even make it halfway to my knees. They don't even have a tail-clasp in the rear, and I just tug them up with the waistband underneath my tail, so that the top of my rump is just visible. I forgo the underwear. For the finishing touches, I put the three stud earrings into my right ear; I'm not allowed to wear them at work.
"Ta-da!" I yip as I hop back out into the living room, doing a three hundred sixty degree twirl-around to let A.J. check out my outfit. "How do I look?"
The rabbit's got a huge, goofy grin plastered on his face. "Like a complete and total slut," he says as he gets up from the couch. "I'll be surprised if folks aren't lining up all the way out the front door to get a turn at your ass."
"One step at a time," I say, grabbing my keys and heading out the front door with A.J. in tow.
On the drive over to the club, we grab some grub from the drive-thru, and then I tell A.J. about my day at work. He murmurs something about my being a lucky bastard as he tries to gulp down his dinner before we get to our destination. I know that we shouldn't be getting fast food, especially not if we want to keep the figures we have, but it's not like we can go into a restaurant dressed as we are. Well, maybe A.J. can. At any rate, the occasional bit of junk food hasn't hurt us so far.
There's a lot of inner city traffic, being the start of the weekend, and so it takes us almost an hour to get to the club, which is almost perfect. Things are just starting to get going when we walk in through the front door. The bouncer is some new guy; he wears a dumb grin on his face as he checks my I.D., slipping in a comment about how I don't look old enough to get in. I think that's his way of saying that he wants to fuck me. Unfortunately for him, I don't like being compared to jailbait. There are plenty of other, better ways to flatter your way into my pants.
Our first stop once inside is the bar. The bartender tonight is Kiko, this slender white wolf who always has the fur on his head dyed some psychedelic color. This week, it seems he's opted for a screaming pink. He always addresses me as 'gorgeous.'
"What're you having, gorgeous?" he asks me, lisp and all, as I set my paws on the bar. I think I can hear A.J. snicker off to the side.
"Strongest thing you can give me that don't taste like ass," I reply, scanning the bar in case something in particular does catch my eye.
Kiko clicks his tongue and winks at me. "Too bad," he says, adjusting his crotch. "Just got off of my boyfriend before coming on shift." Before I can retort, he's already spun around to fetch some bottles, leaving poor A.J. to wait on ordering his drink. It's a lame joke, sure, but I still chuckle. Hell, if Kiko were to actually make the offer, I'd blow him right there behind the bar. Come to think of it, in the back of my mind, I think I've always meant to, but I've never gotten around to it.
That's not going to happen tonight, though. I've got other plans, and they start with Kiko passing off my drink. Whatever it is, it sure as hell is brightly-colored, just like Kiko's hair. "What's in it?" I ask.
"Just drink it--you'll like it," he tells me with a smile, and then he turns to A.J. "How about you, sweet stuff?"
I wander toward one of the booths against the far wall before I hear just what A.J. orders. I sit down, get cozy, and then take a sip of the mystery concoction I've been handed. My mouth puckers up. Fuck, that's strong! I like it, though, so I keep on sipping, and by the time A.J. joins me with his own beverage in his paw, I'm halfway done with mine.
"Hey, easy there," the rabbit says as he slides in next to me. "You're gonna get yourself trashed."
"That's the idea," I reply, smiling from around my straw as I take another long, drawn-out sip.
A.J. shoots me a look of disbelief. "You know, hon, I hate to break it to you," he starts, setting a paw on my shoulder, "but getting a boy like you to raise his tail doesn't require alcohol."
I give the rabbit a gentle jab in the ribs with my elbow. "What, you think I don't know that?" I say with a chuckle. "Trust me, I know what I'm doing."
"Oh. Are you in size queen mode tonight?" he asks. "Hoping to take the edge off and dull the pain?"
"Isn't that your shtick?" I counter, winking.
"Hey, you've already been fucked once today," the rabbit points out. "It only makes sense that you'd keep going for bigger and better."
I take another sip, already getting down to the watered-down part of the drink down in the ice. "What about you?" I ask, changing the subject. "Got your eye on anyone yet?"
"Nah," he says, scanning the crowd as he relaxes further into the booth. "Haven't had time to really look. Besides, folks will still be trickling in for some time to come. No sense jumping the gun."
"There's always Kiko," I suggest, and I'm only half-joking.
A.J. smiles. "Or you," he says.
"Now, now: don't give up hope just yet," I say, getting up from my seat. "I need to fetch myself another drink."
I fade out into the crowd after I get my second drink from Kiko; the wolf whistles at me when he sees how fast I'm already hitting the booze. I'm not trying to drown my sorrows, though, and I'm certainly not trying to kill any inhibitions that I don't have, either.
No, the real reason that I want to drink so much so quickly is that I'm a bad actor. See, if I just pretended to be drunk off of my ass in the hopes that someone would decide to take advantage of me, I know I wouldn't be convincing enough. Oh, I can play the part of the easy little slut without much difficulty, but some guys just find that obnoxious; they'd actually rather think that they were getting somewhere with someone who was just too blitzed to know better.
Maybe it's a guilt thing. I don't know.
I make sure to get some dancing in, too, just to make sure that I at least stay alert--not to mention visible--as I let myself get sloshed. I touch base with A.J. when I see him, but he doesn't seem to have pegged anyone as a mark just yet. He will, though. He might even go for Kiko, too. Maybe it's the alcohol, but the image of my little rabbit friend kneeling down with the flamey wolf's cock in his face is equal parts amusing and arousing.
Without looking at the clock (and since I didn't wear a watch), I'd guess that somewhere over two hours has passed. Even without drinking any more, I know that I'll be pretty fucking tipsy at least through to midnight, which should be long enough. I'm proud of myself for having come up with that part of the plan, and I giggle.
Out on the dance floor, more than just a few guys try to get some of what I'm offering. I do a little bit of bumping and grinding, pressing my ass back into the occasional crotch and letting paws wander where they will... but only so far. I don't actually give anyone the time of day. This is my candy store, here, and I've come here to pick and choose.
I get tired, and so I haul my ass over to another booth. I close my eyes and rest my head, and then I feel a weight drop down next to me. Opening my eyes, I see A.J. there, looking like he's having a pretty fun time of the night, too. "Man," he says, shaking his head and catching his breath. "I go from not having any real options to have too many to choose from!"
My eyes glance over the nearest crop of dancers. I spot a tallish wolf, more conservatively colored and more masculine than Kiko by a long shot. "I bet he's one of them," I say to A.J.
"Look how big his fuckin' sheath is!" the rabbit squeaks. "You can see the entire outline through his shorts! And I bet he's not even hard in there, either!"
"So, then, like... just walk up to him," I say, waving my fingers in a circle. "Slap both of your paws on that sheath there and tell the nice, studly doggy that you're... like... the guardian angel of cocksucking or something." I wince. The alcohol is really impairing my wit, but not my ability to be summarily embarrassed.
A.J. just kind of rolls his eyes. "Er, yeah, don't worry," he says. "I've got it covered." He leans in over the table, and then asks, "So, what about you? Who're your eyes on, eh?"
I can feel how big my smile is. I turn my head and motion with a nod. "See the cougar and the snow leopard standing next to the dance floor over there?"
"Uh-huh," the rabbit replies, following my gaze. "Which one?"
"'One?'" I reply, giving A.J. a grin that I imagine looks much like the one I flashed Chaz way back this morning.
The rabbit's eyes widen so much that the whites practically shine in the tricked-out club lighting. "Oh, you are not serious," he says, shaking his head.
Already, though, I'm getting out of the booth. "Watch and learn, young apprentice."
I pad my way over to the two felines with a sense of purpose driving my every step. The two of them clearly didn't come here together, and just as clearly, they've been flirting pretty heavily for the last hour or so. This is where it's time for me to enter the stage, and also why it'll really help for me to be drunk.
My lithe little body squeezes in between the two cats, and I stand facing the snow leopard. I know that I've interrupted a conversation, because his mouth is hanging open with a partly-formed word on his lips, and because he's giving me an incredulous kind of stare. Before he can say anything, though, I bring a single claw up to play with the ruff of fur on his chest that shows at the top of his open silk shirt, and I say, "You know, I think you're the most gorgeous kitty to ever set foot inside these walls. How come I've never seen you before?"
During all this, of course, I've got my tail hiked up nice and high, and I've got my ass jutting out so that it'd be almost impossible for the cougar not to notice that I'm trying to show it off. I hear him clear his throat behind me, and I sense him start to shift, and I'm guessing that he wants to step around to inform me that I've rudely interrupted him. Before he can take a step, though, I lift up one of my own feet, slide it back, and set it down atop his: this way, he knows that I know he's there, and he knows that I want him to stay right where he is, for now.
The snow leopard still looks confused, but he looks cuter when he chuckles, so I can deal. "I don't know," he replies. "I come here every week."
"Ah," I reply. Truth be told, I don't recognize the guy, but then again, it's a crowded place, and I am pretty much drunk. "Guess I just haven't been looking hard enough. That must mean tonight is my lucky night."
"Er, yeah, maybe," he says, looking past my shoulder at the other feline standing behind me. The expression on his face seems to say, Okay, I honestly don't know what the hell this fox here is doing.
I step things up. "I'm really glad, though!" I chirp. "I like cats." When I say that, I make my tail wag so that it smacks against the cougar's thighs. "I know you probably get that from all the guys, but hey."
The snow leopard still seems pretty frazzled, like he's trying to find some way to shoo me off without making me mad. "Yeah, um, actually..." he starts, but before he can get any further, the cougar shifts another half step closer. I feel his hand find purchase on my rear end, stroking over the leather and the exposed curve of fur higher up.
Leaning my head back, I let out a (clearly) fake yip of surprise, looking into the cougar's face. From my point of view, he's upside-down, and somehow... taller than he would be if he were right side-up. "Oh, hey!" I say to him, waving with one paw as my other starts to pet over the snow leopard's tummy. "You're handsome, too!"
"Not so bad yourself," the cougar responds, taking advantage of the fact that he can rub underneath my tail without even having to dip his fingers into my shorts, before he drags his claws and fingers through the fluffier part. I try to use the tip of my tail to tickle his nice, flat stomach, but it doesn't quite reach.
I turn my attention back forward, and the snow leopard is shuffling his feet impatiently. I almost get the impression that he doesn't want me touching him like I am, and so I just take my paw and stick it right between his thighs. He makes the most adorable, mewling squeak when I grab his package, and I give a squeeze when I discover that he's half-hard inside his pants. I'm sure that he's not getting worked up over me, though; in fact, I'm willing to bet that he was fully hard before I dropped in on the scene. "Oh!" I yelp again, giving my paw another squeeze before pulling it away, and then I look back and forth between the two felines. "I'm sorry! I didn't know that I was interrupting something."
Their faces are hard to read, but they look like they're exchanging glances. "Oh, you're not interrupting anything," the cougar says, looping an arm around me, tucking my rump in against his lap. "Is he?" he says to the snow leopard, and everything in his tone of voice suggests that he's asking permission.
By now, possibly because he's seen the way the cougar has reacted to my intrusion, the snow leopard actually looks intrigued. "No," he agrees, nodding in assent with his feline companion. "No, you're not interrupting."
"Oh, good," I say, exhaling a mock sigh of relief. "Like I said, I like cats, after all, so..."
"So I notice," the cougar purrs into my ear, giving a slow, rolling press against my backside. There's a bulge forming back there, and I close my eyes, letting myself feel it.
"You two are nice cats, too," I say, leaving my eyes closed. I bring my paw back to the snow leopard's groin, and this time, there isn't any hesitation in letting me touch him.
He leans in to kiss me on the ear, and he replies, "You seem like a nice fox, too." I can feel him getting harder through his pants.
"It's kinda too bad, though," I say, letting out another sigh as I lick the snow leopard on the chin and wiggle my rump back into the cougar's trapped, growing erection.
"Yeah? What's so bad?" the cougar hums playfully to me, taking a firm hold of my body, notching that bulge right underneath my tail, milking a little gasp from me.
My intent is to play up my whining a little bit, but with the way the cougar teases me, it's actually pretty legitimate. "Well, I came here with a friend of mine," I say. "So I can't really stick around."
The cougar clues in on that almost immediately, and I can feel him move his head back and forth as he looks around for darker, shadowier parts of the club. He catches the snow leopard's eye, and then points over to the stage area. "Well, here," the cougar says. "Why don't we just head someplace quieter for a bit?"
I don't even remember responding. I just know that I'm being led by a pair of felines towards the stage. On some nights, this club has live music, but not tonight. Tonight, the stage is empty, and so nobody's attention is on us as the three of us waltz up onto it and then disappear into the backstage area.
From back here, I can still hear the loud dance music thumping, and it almost sounds like my own heartbeat. The snow leopard sits himself down on a blown-out speaker that looks like it hasn't been moved from that spot in months, and he watches me and the other cat like he's waiting for us to act.
I act. I get right down in front of that speaker, and my paws fly in a mad attempt to free the stiff cock I felt through the snow leopard's pants just a minute before (if I'm even remembering the passage of time right, and... no, I don't care).
Oh, fuck, I can feel just how flushed up I am with both alcohol and arousal. I haven't been with a snow leopard in something like four or five years, and as much as I want to admire how gorgeous my new friend looks with that hard-on poking up from his now-open pants, I don't have the time or the patience. I dive right for it, moaning like I'm starving as I take almost the entire length of his cock into my muzzle in one motion.
Behind me, I hear a belt hit the stage deck. That's followed by a repeating, rhythmic wet sound, and then I hear the snow leopard gasp excitedly from something other than what I'm doing to him. To correct that, I give my muzzle a twist, and I tighten down my lips, tugging at his taut, smooth, delicious flesh. I tell myself, Give this kitty the best goddamn blowjob he's ever had, and it's not much of a stretch for me to feel like I'm doing just that.
For some reason, I find myself wondering what time it is. Maybe eleven o'clock? That makes three different cocks in my muzzle in just over twelve hours. Not a record, I'm sure, but nevertheless, it makes me whimper hotly to think about it.
There's another thump behind me, and the shadow over my back lets me know that the cougar has dropped down onto his knees. I scoot myself back a bit, shifting from a kneeling position onto an all-fours one. Before I'm done, the cougar has my tail in one paw and my shorts in the other, and I feel the seams in the leather almost rip as he yanks them down to bare my rear.
"Oh, foxy's gonna get fucked," the snow leopard gasps out in a partial purr. I open my eyes to see his attention directed behind me. Then, there's a wet press underneath my tail. The firm nub of the end of the cougar's member is wet and slick with more than just his own drizzle, and I'm thankful that he had that foresight, because he feels like he's probably pretty big.
Oh, and he is! He gives a solid push, burying what feels like... fuck, maybe half a foot into me in one go, and I have to tear my muzzle away from the pretty little treat it's suckling on so that I can gasp in pain. I'm so glad, now, that I've got alcohol dulling my senses, because this guy is so thick that I'm almost crying as it is. I turn my attention back to the snow leopard, because he's nice and slender and a lot easier to deal with, if I can just retain focus.
I can't, of course; the cougar goes right into plowing my tight little rear end, and if it weren't for the booze and the lube making it just a little easier, I'd have to beg him to stop. He must be something like eight inches plus, possibly closer to nine, even. Whatever. It's big. It's big, and I like it more and more the longer he fucks me with it. He makes me feel like the perfect slut, taking it under the tail, no questions asked, no complaints.
Shit, I've got nothing to complain about. I've got a beautiful, absolutely beautiful dick to treat with my snout. I pull off here and there, letting myself get a nice look at how it glistens with my spittle as I lick and kiss it. I could suck this dick every day for the rest of my life and probably never get sick of it.
The snow leopard takes his paw, grabs me by the scruff, and forces my mouth back down onto his cock. I comply happily, sputtering out through my nose as breath is forced out of me by the cougar continuing to slam into my little body. It's tough, now, to get the proper amount of suction, because I just can't hold it in.
I don't let that stop me, though. Forcing my way back against the snow leopard's paw, I get my mouth off of his shaft, then keep my face close as I start to stroke him. Actually, I kind of like this idea better anyway. He's warm and throbbing in my grip, and he smells so nice and musky and god, god, I can tell he's close. My fingers tighten and direct his shaft. I close one eye, and I watch out of the other as that lovely cock empties out jets of white all over the other half of my face.
The warmth, stickiness, and scent clinging to my fur and my whiskers drives me absolutely mad with lust, and I actually grunt a few times as my tail takes another surge of pounding thrusts, and that's all I take. I'm so close to the edge that the next good hit to my prostate pushes me right on past, and I let out a trembling, breathless quiver of a moan as I shoot my own load down into a messy white puddle between my shaky knees.
After that, I'm post-orgasmic and intoxicated, and so time loses all context and meaning. There's just heavy, constant thrusting that goes on and on, setting some type of bodily rhythm before it stops. I actually feel it more after the cougar pulls out, if only because the emptiness, by contrast, is so noticeable.
I murmur something sleepily to the pair of cats, something about just wanting to lie back and rest for a bit. Maybe I doze off; I'm not sure. At any rate, time passes, I get up, and the two of them are gone.
My head is a bit clearer, now, but I'm not in great condition by any means. I totter back over to the bar, which is still decently crowded. Kiko has the biggest smile I've ever seen when I sit myself down, and that's when I remember that the snow leopard came all over my face. The wolf doesn't say anything, though; he just hands me a pawful of napkins and gets me a big glass of water.
Kiko tells me that A.J. left with some other wolf (probably the one with the big sheath, is my guess), and that he told Kiko to tell me he wouldn't need a ride home. I smile, because I know the little guy could pull it off.
I nurse on water for the next hour or so, letting my head clear up until I feel sober enough to drive. Kiko checks my eyes, gives me the okay, and slaps me on the ass as he sends me out the door. Fuck, I'm sore.
When I get back to my apartment, I'm practically giggling to myself. I stagger into the bathroom, and try to clean myself up as best as I can without taking a shower; if I tried showering, I'd probably fall asleep standing up, I think.
It's a couple of hours past midnight, but the light in my bedroom is on. I open the door, a sitting up in bed with his snout in some book is the always-handsome gray fox, Lai.
"Hey, sweetie," he says, smiling at me as he looks up from his book.
"Hi, hon," I reply, shucking my vest off and shimmying my way out of my shorts. "Another late night?"
Lai nods. "Yeah, but it wasn't so bad," he says. "At least I've got tomorrow off."
I crawl into bed next to the other fox, and I rest my head on my pillow. "Mmm," I mumble. "Still want to do brunch?"
"Only if you're awake for it," he replies with a giggle, rubbing me on the shoulder. "Seems to me like someone might be sleeping in."
I give a weak little nod, and then I close my eyes. I hear a little click, and then the light on the other side of my eyelids goes away. Lai slips down and turns to face me, putting an arm around me as he nestles in cozily.
"Good night, sweetie," he says, giving me a kiss on the lips. "Love you."
"Love you, too," I reply, and then I let myself drift off to sleep, held securely in my fox's arms, exhausted after a nice, long day.