Contraindications Part 9
#9 of Contraindications
           Matt squinted at the papers in his paw. The task of noting down everything he might have swallowed had been more daunting than he'd anticipated. Seventeen different mass building products had toppled off the shelf; fourteen of the containers had come open for certain â€" apparently the shelf above them had slipped down and crushed the containers, spilling their contents everywhere. Who knows which or how much of those he had accidentally swallowed. Carefully he'd copied down the product names and the ingredients from each of the labels. There were hundreds of ingredients in total, some of them suspiciously vague. What was "herbal cellulose," for example? He wondered if the doctor would be able to make any sense of this, but perhaps one of the ingredients would stand out to her. Shrugging, he opened his car door and stepped in.
           Immediately, he grunted. His knees were pressed up against the steering wheel, his chest hunching forward. He could just feel the brush of his eartips against the car ceiling. Driving over had been a bit uncomfortable, but now he could really feel the difference. He reached under the seat, his thighs squeezing at his sac as he did so, and found the lever to adjust it, gave it a pull, and slid the seat back an inch or two. The position seemed more comfortable, so he started the car and pulled out of the lot.
Driving felt different than it had a few days ago. The weight of the pedals was different, the height of the steering wheel. That, at least, he could adjust, along with the mirrors. But his shoulders bulged taut, rippled when he turned. His chest crowded his arms for space. His back was a bit wider than the driver's seat, which was made for a person with a normal frame. Now the edges of the seat pushed into his lats. It wasn't uncomfortable, exactly, just an ever-present reminder that he was larger than the auto manufacturers planned for. He headed down Roxburgh Avenue, a main thoroughfare with lots of shops and restaurants. His stomach rumbled. He'd downed a good third of the jug of protein, but apparently his body craved more. He eyed the jug sitting there in the passenger's seat. No good dry. Inedible, even. Up ahead was Cobee's Fish Shack. Matt swore he could smell it from where he sat.
Twenty minutes later he was back on the road with a bucket of cod. The clerk had stammered at him when he ordered his food. She had kept looking away. He was pretty sure that the others in the Shack hadn't, though. He could practically feel their eyes crawling over him while he stood there. When he had looked over his shoulder, they all stared at each other, or down at their food. It had unnerved him a little, even though it was a thrill. He wasn't even that big! Muscular, sure, but hardly excessively so. There were plenty of larger guys at his gym. Did all guys this size get that kind of treatment?
He shrugged mentally, and pulled onto the freeway, reaching over into the passenger seat to take another piece of cod from the bucket. As he accelerated into the merge, the slippery fish slid from between his fingers and landed in his lap. Swearing, he pawed at it, trying to catch it before it soaked into his shorts or slipped down onto the floor, and just as his eyes followed it, he heard the loud honk of an SUV. Immediately alert, he looked up and over and jerked the wheel to the side just to avoid sliding into the other lane and plowing into a truck twice the size of his little car. His arm pulled the steering wheel farther to the side than he meant to, sending his vehicle skidding to the side and onto the gravelly shoulder. His heart pounded for a moment as he tried to straighten the wheel, hearing tiny rocks spray out from under his tires and rattle against the undercarriage, and then the tires caught the asphalt again and he lurched forward, only to be rewarded by an annoyed honk from the vehicle behind him. Yeah, I know, he muttered to himself. The previous honk and the nearly barreling into the guardrail sort of tipped me off that I fucked up, but I appreciate your input, asshole.
He felt the brief surge of adrenaline flooding out of his chest as he steadied his vehicle and accelerated back up to speed, but it was too soon: there was the wup-WUP of a siren behind him, and the flash of blue lights. Great. Great, great, great. He waited for a broader part of the shoulder and slowed onto it. The car pulled in behind him, lights flashing. His stomach growled again. He reached down and picked up the fallen piece of cod and, feeling guilty, crammed it into his mouth. He was still chewing when he sat upright and saw the police uniform outside his window, a hand capped with the thick black nails of a horse tapping at the glass. He rolled down the window. "Officer, I can explain," he started.
"License and registration," the horse said, leaning down to peer at him. He was wearing those stereotypical mirrored sunglasses you always saw cops on tv wearing. Great.
Matt reached in his pocket for his wallet, his fingers grazing against the bulge of his thigh. He took out his license and handed it to the cop â€" the horse's thick nails clicked on the plastic as he took it â€" and then reached across to the glove box for his registration.
"You having any problems with your vehicle today, Mr. Stafford?"
"No, sir."
"No engine trouble, tires, other mechanical problems?"
"No sir, I just... my paws slipped on the wheel for a second."
"Have you had anything to drink today?"
"No sir."
The cop leaned down again, peering at the license and peering at Matt again. "Sir, is this your vehicle?"
"Yes, sir."
"If I go back and look this up in my computer, is it going to say this car is registered to Matt Stafford?"
"Yes, sir."
"Are you Matt Stafford?"
Matt was beginning to feel a bit panicked now. This was not how this situation was supposed to go. "Yes, sir, that's what my parents told me." He tried a laugh. It sounded pathetic.
"Will you step out of the vehicle, please, sir. And keep your hands where I can see them."
There was no emotion in the horse's voice other than Routine Procedure. Matt, on the other hand, could feel his knees shaking slightly. He fumbled for the door handle. His fingers were slippery with oil from the fish, and the handle didn't seem to be where he remembered it being. Clumsily, he managed to open the door and stepped out, keeping his hands on the door frame.
"Sir, I want you to keep an eye on the traffic, and walk around to the other side of the vehicle. I'm going to follow you. We're going to walk toward the back so that you can see the cars as they're coming. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"Okay, let's go."
The cars roared as they went by, the gusts of hot wind from them tugging at his fur, reeking of partially burned gasoline and smoke. He stopped at the other side of his car.
"Turn around."
When he turned, the horse took off his sunglasses. His eyes were large and brown, with long lashes, and they stared intently into Matt's. Probably looking for dilation or other signs of intoxication, Matt figured. The cop put his sunglasses back on, and Matt looked down. The nametag on his uniform read COKIE. Officer Cokie, really?
"You're a big guy, aren't you?" Officer Cokie asked.
Matt looked back at him; the horse was at least three inches taller than him, and pretty broadshouldered. "I guess I am, sort of."
"Your license says you're five foot ten."
Oh shit. "Yes, sir."
"My wife is five foot ten."
Matt scrambled in his mind for a way out of this. "Well, that's what I was when I was twenty. Maybe I've grown a little since then?
"And it says you weigh a hundred and fifty pounds."
"Sir..."
"I'm going to ask you this one more time, and I want you to think very carefully before you answer me: are you Matt Stafford?"
"Yes, sir, I swear, sir, you can call my boyfriend and ask him..." No sooner had the words
slipped out of his mouth than he knew it was a mistake.
"Your boyfriend?"
He could hear the curl of disgust in the cop's voice. "Yes, sir."
"Please turn around and put your hands on top of the vehicle."
Trembling properly now, he obeyed.
"Are you carrying any weapons?"
"No, sir."
"Is there anything in your pockets or on your person that might endanger me?"
"No, sir."
"I'm going to frisk you now. Remain still and keep your hands on top of the vehicle."
The cop's hands were at his sides, then, sliding down his lats. He actually had to reach forward a bit to cup around the front of them, and Matt heard him breathe a low, quiet whistle. His hands moved down to the otter's waist, and then down over his thighs. Despite his fear, the otter felt a little shiver of excitement run through him, and when the cop's hands slid up between his thighs to where the thick muscles pressed together, it was amplified.
"Sir, please spread your feet a farther apart."
He did so, and the policeman's hands slid higher, until they bumped into the bottom of his sac. He felt the contents of his sheath swell and rise, pushing up under his waistband, below the bottom of his shirt. Really? he thought to himself. Now?! The horse's blunt-fingered hands reached around his waist then and patted at his stomach, and then across his protruding tip. He felt the cop stiffen and back up.
"Do you have a weapon in your waistband?"
Despite his fear, he felt a sudden urge to snicker, and quickly suppressed it.
"No, sir."
"What was that, there? What did I feel?"
"Sir, it's, uh.. it's..." he felt his cheeks flush hotly. "...me."
There was silence behind him for a moment. "Bullshit."
"I swear, sir."
The cop's arms reached around his waist again; he could feel the horse's breath against the back of his shirt. Fingers gingerly groped at the bulge rising up under his shirt, squeezing at the tip and then farther down. He felt himself pulse and swell thicker in response to the touch; despite himself, his libido was beginning to charge through his veins once again. "Turn around," said the cop.
He turned, and the policeman looked down at the tent comically jutting out the front of his shirt. Reaching down, Cokie took the bottom of his t-shirt and lifted it up, exposing Matt's pink organ, which as if on command surged higher, a viscous rill of his pre running down to stain the front of his shorts. Matt felt suddenly, acutely aware of the traffic roaring by just behind him. The horse breathed in sharply, his jaws gaping. "You weren't lyin'," he said, shaking his head. He seemed to try to compose himself. "Well, you ain't as big as a horse, of course, but damn, boy." He breathed in again, and then sniffed at the air. He looked right and left as if to convince himself no one was watching. "You said you have a boyfriend."
Oh, great. Matt nodded.
"So you... you have sex with guys then."
He resisted the urge to make a sarcastic reply. "Yes, sir." There was a thin pattering sound coming from below; his tip was spilling pre onto the ground, the drops rolling up in little dusty balls.
The horse's voice was hungry now. "You ever fucked a cop before?"
"Sir, I... I can't."Â But he wanted to, all of a sudden. He couldn't deny that.
He saw the horse's jaw tighten in anger. "I could always take you in on suspicion of a stolen vehicle. Would that be better?"
He couldn't believe he was actually hearing this. "Sir, are you saying...?"
The cop nodded. "You can go to jail today... or you can stick that pole in me." He licked his lips, staring down again.
Stick that pole in me? Who was this guy?
"Are you... are you even gay?"
The cop spat. "Fuck, no! That's disgusting! I told you, I got a wife! Now what's it gonna be, son?" His fingers toyed with his belt buckle.
Matt could tell himself he didn't have a real choice here, but... to be honest, it wasn't as if he didn't want to. "Where do you want to do it?"
The horse's voice quickened with excitement. "Here," he said eagerly. "Up against your car." He was already undoing his belt.
Matt frowned in confusion. "But... the traffic. People will see!"
"Shit, son, you're on the other side of the car. What you think they're gonna see?" He dropped his pants, revealing thickly muscled legs covered with sleek, dark brown fur, a pair of heavy, orange-sized balls held tightly in their sac, and jutting above, an already rising erection that, Matt had to admit, was significantly bigger than his own.
"Well," Matt said slowly, "at the very least they'll see some guy pinning a cop up against his car."
The cop hesitated. "You got a good point. Here." He took off his hat and sunglasses and handed them to Matt. "Put these on. That way it'll look like you're the cop, and you're just frisking me."
This couldn't be for real. "Seriously? Is this... this has to be some kind of trap."
The cop reached down for his discarded trousers, where he'd left his handcuffs and, presumably, a pistol. "Son, I swear to god..."
"Okay, okay!" Matt put the hat on his head, feeling the grip of the band around his ears, and then put on the shades, dimming the world into brown. He felt himself grin. "Turn around slowly and put your hands atop the vehicle."
To his astonishment, the officer actually bit his lower lip and made a faint mewl of excitement. His black, ropy tail twitched back and forth against his shirt uniform as he leaned forward against the car, arching his rump outward, looking back over one shoulder at Matt. The otter felt his shoulders sway with confidence as he moved up behind the cop and nudged his dripping tip between those roundly muscled buttocks. He slid in smoothly, easily, the cop relaxing for him as if experienced. And as he thrust urgently, making the horse groan, making his thick nails scratch at the paint of his car roof, making his thick horse's cock smear up the glass of his windows with pre, making the whole car shake with the force of his movements, all the while, his expression was plain, serious, that of Routine Procedure.
Finally, he finished, panting, feeling the heat of his seed floating around his shaft, buried deep within the groaning horse's ass, and started to slide outward, when he felt the cop's easy grip around his cock suddenly grip tight, the cheeks of his rump clenching. "Hold on there, son," the horse said. "I ain't done yet. Now let's go again."
Matt shook his head, and felt the new thickness of his neck, felt the way his arms pushed against his chest just a little more, felt the way the horse was just a little tighter around him than before. He'd grown again. "I can't," he said. "I really can't."
No sooner had he said it than his shaft twitched, flexed as if of its own accord.
"I dunno," said the cop. "It feels to me like you can. Anyway," he turned to look over his shoulder, and his eyes took on a pleading expression, "I didn't mean it, Officer, I swear. I'll never do it again. Sir, please, Sir, couldn't you just let me off with a warning? I'll be extra good from now on." His rump clenched again, squeezing deliciously down Matt's length again. "Please, Sir, let me go?"
Matt felt his voice come out in a low, wicked growl. "I'm sorry, son," he said. "But that would be against the Law." And with that, he pushed his hips forward, sinking just a little deeper than before.
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He knew Stetson would be upset when he got home, but there wasn't a lot he could do about it. The door to their house actually looked smaller somehow; he had to reach down a bit for the knob. His arm and shoulder hit the doorframe pretty hard as he entered, but it didn't hurt at all. Stetson was lying nude on the sofa in the living room, reading a book, and his jaw went a bit slack when he looked up. "I'd ask how it went," he said, "but the answer is either ‘not good' or ‘very good,' and I'm not sure which one I want." He sighed and got up from the sofa. "I guess you're hungry again; I figured you would be. There's a roast in the oven."
Matt's stomach growled. "Stetson, there was nothing I could do. The guy at the store wouldn't tell me what was in the stuff. He didn't believe it was me. I had to prove what was happening to me. And then on the way home this cop pulled me over and... he actually made me under threat of arrest." He couldn't stop a half-smirk from creeping across his muzzle.
Stetson gave him an appraising look. "Yeah, I'm betting you didn't take much convincing. But look at you now! You're... you're huge. You've got to be at least three inches taller than when you left this morning, and have you weighed yourself? I'm betting you're in the upper two hundreds." He tapped at his chin with a paw. "You could compete now, you know?"
Matt stuck out his tongue. "Like bodybuilding? No way, it's just too weird, getting up there and flexing in front of people."
"It might be weird, but it's lucrative," Stetson said. "And we're gonna have to feed that appetite of yours somehow."
The otter sighed. "So you're not mad that I...?" he trailed off.
Stetson got up from the couch, setting down his book, and walked over to Matt. He actually had to look up at him, his chin at the otter's chest. Matt couldn't believe it â€" he looked so small now. "Of course I'm not mad," he said. "Look at you, you're built for sex. How can I blame you for doing what you're wired to do... and so clearly enjoy. Besides, you were so unhappy as you were before. I'm... I'm glad that you've gotten what you wanted." He hesitated. "I'm just worried. And we've talked about why. I don't want this to become something you don't want."
Matt reached down and cupped the rabbit's rump and thighs in his webbed paws, hefting him up against his chest. He could feel his thick sheath pressed against the rabbit's own, but for now, he ignored the twitching, ever-present desire in his cock, resisted the urge to slide his fingers between the rabbit's cheeks and heft him higher. Instead he pressed his muzzle to Stetson's, closing his eyes and kissing firmly, feeling the tickle of the rabbit's whiskers against his cheeks. He barely even noticed the way his arms never seemed to tire holding his boyfriend aloft, nor the way his tongue felt just a little bit bigger between Stetson's teeth.
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Stetson woke in the middle of the night to a familiar and compelling scent. There was a persistent sticky sound coming from his right. Blearily, he blinked his eyes open. Matt lay there, apparently asleep, his eyes closed, his breathing slow and steady, huge, muscled chest rising and falling in the dim light of the room. Jutting up from his loins was a huge erection, bigger by far than Stetson's, nearly a foot in length, too big to get a paw around. It reached nearly to his boyfriend's chest. In his sleep, Matt had curled his torso forward â€" still flexible despite his increased bulk, and was slowly licking at his own tip, cleaning away the clear, salty flow as it streamed outward, and swallowing it back down. Stetson gaped for a moment at this sight, then leaned over the other side of the bed and rummaged beneath for their video recorder â€" Matt would never believe this otherwise. He set it recording on the nightstand, and then rolled over, leaning up to assist, his tongue lapping at the oozing tip and the otter's tongue in smooth, peaceful strokes, for the first time kissing his boyfriend in both places at once.
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It wasn't fair.
Saul paced back and forth across his living room. It wasn't fair and it wasn't right. He'd had his eye on the otter first, right from the beginning. He'd pointed him out to Stetson at the restaurant that time, back when the rabbit used to wait tables. And then Stetson had hooked up with Matt and left him out of the equation! All right, so that's the way it goes, that's fine. But then to bring the otter back to his place, this being of pure sex, and deny him access? To treat him like... like some kind of imposing rapist after he'd offered his basement and services and help? It was ungrateful, is what it was. No, it was beyond ungrateful. It was spiteful. Stetson didn't want him to have Matt for no other reason than because he wanted him.
"It's not even," he found himself saying aloud, "like he can handle him â€" that is way too much otter hunk for one person. It's selfish. And greedy. And wrong. Matt's a free person. He should be able to have sex with the people he wants to."
"And he's going to want to have sex with me." He looked down at his paw, his fingers curled around the little orange pill bottle there. "He's really really going to want to."