nocturnes for the wasteland
Author's note -- This takes place in a world where all the Anthros are Dogs, and all the Dogs are Anthros.
**
His name is Dominic, but everyone calls him Dom. He's a Pit Bull. He has dark gray fur -- dark gray everywhere, except for a white splash that covers most of his chest, most of his stomach. That splash is almost but not quite shaped like a six-pointed star. His chest is thick, his toes and fingers are thick as well. His butt, well, I could go on for days about his butt, but (hah hah) I've only just started this tale. There's time for all that later. Dom is just sexy, physically, in my opinion.
It's more than that, though. His personality, his attitude, you know, his vibe, I guess I'll say -- sexy as well. He's masculine without being aggressive, confident without being arrogant. That sort of thing turns me on, personally.
At the moment, Dom and I are pissing into that large fountain which sits smack in the middle of the mall. Someone turned it off, but didn't drain it, so there's still a few inches of water in the circular pool. It's such a big, marble, elaborate beast, too, that fountain -- there's the standard circular pool, and in the middle of that pool stands a statue of the god Atreidhas, up on a pedestal. Big statue, rather nice looking, but standard -- he's got the Law Tables in his furry hands, all that bit. Why that statue's in the mall, no one knows. It's the mall. Wouldn't Zeforah, god of commerce, have been more -- I dunno -- appropriate? Anyway, all around the statue there are water jets that shoot the water up into the air, but as I've mentioned, someone's turned off the fountain.
When Dom pisses, he likes to both unzip the zipper and unbutton the button of his faded jeans. Says he's more comfortable, but I say he's showing off. After he pulls out his sheath, from his underwear, he likes to roll it back just a bit, expose just a bit of his cock. You know how it is -- some guys do that, some guys don't. Every male has his preference. One guy I knew in school, he'd expose the entire head of his cock while pissing. Overkill, in my opinion -- but back then I was an angsty teen who was fast learning he fancied males. I was not about to complain.
I want to be more like Dom, I want to do things the way Dom does them. So, as I stood side by side next to my Pit Bull friend, I too unzipped my zipper and unbuttoned my button. I pulled out my sheath from my underwear, and I rolled it back just a bit. Soon, two golden streams were arcing out and splashing into the shallow pool. It's too bad the fountain was off, because we'd have water flowing from all kinds of directions otherwise. The sound our pissing streams made together was incredible -- much louder than expected, but we should've expected it. The mall was empty, and the air was incredibly still and quiet . . . until the noise of our side-by-side piss rose up towards the high, high ceiling and echoed around the cavernous space.
Dom's sheath, by the way, is of a good size. It's wide, thick, glorious. To the day I die, I'll vividly recall the first time I saw him step out of his clothes. It was seventh grade, and a group of us had skipped school to hang out by the lake. The water was unusually warm, for March, so we all went swimming - we stripped down to our fur, and soon we were splashing about in that warm, deep water.
Soon after that day, Dom and I became friends -- and we've been hanging out together ever since. Cool, right? Not many friendships last beyond school, I know. And, shit, we graduated high school four -- oops -- five years ago, so, I guess we've got a pretty good friendship going on.
Anyway, Dom's finished pissing, so he gives his member a good shake, flinging out the last little drops. Glancing sideways briefly, I see his hand sliding his sheath forward, covering his cock. The fur on his sheath is just a bit thicker than the rest of his fur, by the way, and I've always appreciated that. It's not easy to notice, however - you have to really look at it, and believe me, I've looked at it.
After I zipped up and buttoned, I looked around. The mall was empty, supposedly. The four of us, we believed ourselves to be the only anthros there. It was weird, that goes without saying -- being there in the mall, with it closed and empty and feeling . . . haunted. After the mall was shut down, someone -- for some reason, someone had not just padlocked but triple-padlocked every single door into the mall. Why? One padlock would've been more than enough. Then again . . . I soon realized that nearly every store in the mall had left their doors open. A few stores had closed their doors, probably locked them, sure, but most of the stores were wide open -- anyone could just walk in.
I know everyone had evacuated the mall in a rush, sure, and I think the mall was evacuated just to prevent looting (which partly explains the rush) . . . but, still . . . they could've taken some time to close down properly.
Then again -- more fun for us, right? With nearly all the stores unlocked, we could explore to our hearts content. Um, notice I wrote explore, not loot. We hadn't planned on stealing anything. That would be wrong.
Actually, we did plan on stealing a few things. Just a few small things.
I lied when I said we weren't there to steal. Well, that too is sort of a lie -- stealing wasn't our primary reason for being there. We just thought it'd be fun, seeing the mall all empty, hanging out in there and stuff. You know, four males in their early twenties, bored, the world having fallen into the dust around them -- what else were we going to do?
Oh, and how did we get in? Flynn knew about a secret entrance on the roof, which leads into one of the department stores. Flynn knows a lot of stuff like that.
Flynn's a Bull Terrier, with brindle fur. He's the quiet one of our group, and he's also the one who usually comes up with good ideas. Like, for example -- "Hey, let's go to the mall," Flynn said, this morning. "It'll be empty, and we can chill out, do some exploring, bring some beer and stuff." He told us about the secret entrance, and then he said we could use ladders to get up there, and pull the ladders up afterward, so no one would bother us.
Flynn's cool. He's into comics, sci fi, D&D, stuff like that.
**
So that's three of us I've mentioned. There's me, I'm a Dalmatian and my name is Jace. I told you about Dom, who's a Pit Bull, and Flynn, who's a Bull Terrier. The fourth member of our group is a guy named Logan. He's a Doberman. I think I mentioned that Dom and I became friends somewhere in seventh grade. Well, Logan and I connected, became immediate friends, the first day of sixth grade. Logan was kind of a jock, back then. He was really good at baseball and basketball, and sorta good at football. However, while he was good at playing sports, he was never dedicated. He never took them seriously, which angered his coaches and some of his teammates. He just wanted to have fun playing baseball and b-ball, really. Winning and losing? Didn't matter to him. By the time we got to high school, he'd given up playing on teams.
I think the four of us have been friends for . . . ten years or so? Something like that. Logan and I connected in sixth grade. The next year, Dom and I became friends. Right after that, Dom and Logan rescued Flynn from some assholes, and he joined our group right away. Once he did, it just felt right, ya know? Like, we were complete.
Might sound sappy, I guess, or flowery, or whatever -- but I'm okay with that. Our pack is tight, ya know? Like, we always felt like it was us against the world, which, yeah I know, is usually how a tight group of friends feels. Shit, now that the world's fallen, it might actually come down to us versus the world. Crazy, right?
**
Ever since the world . . . well, ever since it went to shit, we've been staying at Dom's father's house. He left the house to Dom in his will, and the four of us moved in right after the funeral. Dom's father also left him his car, which was only two years old. I guess the best way I can describe Dom's father is by mentioning the bumper sticker on that car. It reads, "How's my driving? Call 1 800 Eat Shit!" Yeah, the exclamation point's there, on the sticker. I didn't add it.
Last night, around two in the morning, I woke up from this crazy dream. It was intense, and surreal, and for some reason it really freaked me out. I sat up with a start, my heart racing, my stomach churning and turning. For just a moment, what was real and what was dream -- I didn't know. Then, I fully woke up, and the dream faded. Within a minute, the details of it slipped out of memory.
But while I couldn't remember what the dream was about, I was still rattled. So, I went out into the back yard, to get some air. For a while, a good-feeling while, I collected myself, felt the cool breeze on my fur, stared up into the night sky.
And then the door yawned opened, and Logan stepped outside. He was wearing his t-shirt and his underwear, and nothing else.
Logan is a black and tan Doberman. He's got the usual tan marks just above his eyes. His feet and hands are tan, and so is his long muzzle. He's also tan down on the insides of his thighs - and his pert, muscular sheath and his plump balls are tan as well. Most of his stomach is tan, but his chest is all black. He's damn hot. Plus, he works out -- well -- he used to work out, before the world fell apart. So he's got his pecs and his biceps built up nicely, as well as his upper leg muscles -- um, shit, what are the leg muscles called? I used to know these kinds of things, I swear. Anyway, Logan's in good shape and he's damn hot.
Lots of males who are into other males have a thing for Dobermans, it seems. It makes sense. Dobies are just sexy, yeah? Me, I don't really have a type. I like all kinds of dogs. Or maybe I do have a type? I did have a crush on a Mastiff, once, and just after high school I got serious about a Rottweiler. Guess that might say something about me. Oh, and the thing with the Rottie didn't last, it was just a few months of really hot and really intense sex, and then he took a job out of state.
"Couldn't sleep?" Logan asked me.
"Oh, I slept just fine. Until I had this horrible dream. You?"
"Weird," he said. "I had a bad dream, too."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah," he shook his head. "Shit, I can't remember it. But it freaked me out."
"So did my dream, it freaked me out for sure," I said.
"Huh. That's far out."
"Maybe not," I said. "Maybe it makes sense. The world itself is weird, these days."
Logan walked a few feet away, went over to some wildflowers that covered the fence. He started pissing on the flowers, and for a moment neither of us talked. I listened to the sound of his stream hitting the petals, the ground, the fence.
"I don't think I can get back to sleep," I said.
"Me neither. Actually," he said, with a smile, "I came out here to jerk off."
"Well, that's a surprise. Not. You jerk off a lot." I said it as a joke, but it's pretty much true.
"Hey," he laughed, "Don't say that like it's a bad thing! Besides, you jerk off as much as I do."
"Almost as much."
"Whatever."
I laughed.
"I got it all planned out," Logan said. "I'm going behind the garage, where there's privacy. And look at the moon up there, dude - just enough moonlight to kind of almost see what I'm doing."
"There's two bathrooms inside, you know."
"Yeah," he replied, "But what happens if someone wakes up and wants to use whichever one I'm in? I want to take my time with this, make this shit last. Hey, you want to jerk off with me?"
Like I said, Logan and I, we've been friends since sixth grade. We've been jerking off together pretty much since day one. Well, sometimes we jerk off, sometimes we jerk each other off. It just depends on what we feel like doing. It's just part of how our friendship works. We're not into each other or anything, we just like getting off together. In Logan's opinion of himself, he's "kinda" bi, while I believe he's totally bi -- but -- whatever, either way, we don't do what we do because we're hot for each other. We feel like we're both very sexual canines -- like, we both have a high sex drive, or whatever. And we like being sexual together. Not sure if that makes sense, but it does makes sense to us, so, that's something.
It's kinda weird, I guess, but it's not messy or complicated.
I looked at my friend Logan, my sexy Doberman friend, and I nodded my head. "Yeah, sure," I said, casually.
We went behind the garage.
Not wasting any time, Logan grabbed his crotch. The fly of his underwear has a single button. He unbuttoned that, then parted the folds of cloth, and soon his sheath emerged, or most of it anyway.
I told you about Dom's sheath, yeah? Dom has a sheath I'd call meaty, it's just this big beast that flops out at you.
Logan however -- Logan's sheath is lean, muscular. The sight of that tan sheath always makes my throat go dry, even after all these years.
Already, the head of Logan's cock was coming out. He squeezed his sheath, said something under his breath like, "fuck it," and then he pulled his underwear down and kicked it off. I followed, and so we were both naked from the waist down.
Briefly, we made eye contact, then we each looked down, to see what the other was doing. Under the moonlight, we couldn't get the entire picture, but we knew the outlines, knew them well from years of jerking off together. I'm always just a bit slower to rise than Logan. As his dick got harder, it slid free of the sheath, emerging into the night air. The Doberman squeezed his balls, squeezed his sheath some more, and then eventually he ran a finger along the length of his emerging cock, ran it slowly along his shaft, ran it up to the tip. The smell of his musk wafted up into my nostrils, making my head swim a bit.
Eventually, he was completely hard, his throbbing, gorgeous cock totally free of the sheath. Most of my cock was out, by then, though not all. Logan -- still taking his time -- gripped his dick firmly, sure and easy. He squeezed it gently, and then he started stroking it with his furry fingers. Soon, he was full-on masturbating, and I was right there with him -- I'd played with my balls, run a finger along the underside of my dick, squeezed my maleness a few times, and eventually I was masturbating as well . . .
For a while, we jerked off, slowly, standing side by side together behind the garage, taking our time -- we weren't trying to come, not yet. I could feel his body heat, radiating off him. I could smell his fur, I could smell the sweat he'd sweated in the warm night (while sleeping, while dreaming whatever weird dream he'd dreamed).
"You can put it in your mouth, if you want to," Logan said, suddenly, his voice hoarse and trembling with the kind of lust which only a young dog who's horny nearly all the time can feel.
I confess, I hesitated not at all. Quickly, eagerly, I squatted, steadying myself and moving my face to his crotch. I ran my tongue along the underside of his shaft, then I licked the entire head of his throbbing cock, and his pre got on my tongue. I next ran my tongue down the shaft, and I eagerly licked his balls a few times -- now, his sweat was on my tongue as well. I felt greedy -- I wanted more sweat, more pre . . . I could also _smell _his sweat and his pre -- I inhaled those heady aromas as they flooded into me. I brought my lips and my tongue back up the shaft, making sure to bring as much ball sweat with me as I could -- so, now, his hot cock was covered in my saliva, as well as his own sweat, and his own pre . . . I felt my own cock throbbing massively, in response to all the "life is great!" sensations that were knocking into me -- Logan's Dobie body being so close to me; his body heat; the taste of his salty sweat and his slippery pre swirling around in my mouth; the smell of him . . .
Logan held still as I got most of his dick inside my mouth. He moaned in pleasure, softly. My tongue ran wild, licking him everywhere it could reach. Then, I started going up and down on the shaft, my muzzle so close to his crotch, his penis filling me, his pre cum . . . dude always has a lot of pre. I have some, just a bit, really, but Logan always somehow has a flood tide -- an ocean -- of pre and yeah it tastes good and sexy.
It was too easy - it was too tempting - to think about Dom. To imagine it was him I was going down on. To imagine my Pit Bull friend's cock sliding down my throat, his pre oozing into me, his sweat and his smells soaking into me. As I slid my mouth up and down Logan's shaft, I imagined Dom's crotch pushing into my face.
"Okay, okay," Logan was saying, " . . . gods, I'm so close . . ."
I stopped, withdrew -- Logan's cock slipped out of my mouth, slippery wet with my saliva mingled with his sweat and his pre. The taste of him was still making my tongue hum and vibrate. His penis was as erect as could be, standing tall and pulsating with urgent need. Again, I thought about Dom as Logan and I grabbed each other's cocks. I thought about what it would be like to take Dom's erect penis in my hand, to feel it, hold it, squeeze it, stroke it.
Logan I started jerking each other off, then, no words needed to get it going. We both knew what the other wanted, even with the moon as our only light, we could see it in each other's eyes. Soon, very soon, we started going faster and faster, both building towards the finish. I pushed away all thoughts of Dom. Focusing on Logan -- on his muscled body, his smells, his fur, his engorged dick -- I felt a rush of lust rip through me like a tidal wave. I prodded his balls with a finger, I touched them, stroked them, squeezed and held them. They were full, swollen, meaty, furry, oh so warm.
With Logan's sure hand gripping my own pulsating member, I stroked the Doberman's cock faster and faster. He said something -- I didn't catch it -- and a jet of spunk shot out of his throbbing cock. It splashed on the ground. I reached out with my free hand and caught the last drops that came out, fat and swollen. Logan was panting, trembling, his eyes closed and his head tilted back. For a moment, he'd stopped jerking me off, though he still had his furry hand around my length.
As Logan collected himself, I brought my left hand to my mouth, sticky as my hand was with those drops of Logan's seed. Those, I smelled, tasted, swallowed, quickly. Soon, Logan was smiling, almost laughing, saying things like "whoo! that was great!" -- and all the while, he'd started masturbating me again. Soon, he was fully back in the rhythm of the thing, and I was fast approaching my orgasm.
I then brought my right hand up to my mouth -- this was the hand that'd been jerking Logan off, and it still smelled of his penis, his sweat.
And then I came, my body clenching up, the entire whole of it . . . and then my body relaxed . . . I tilted my head forward, as I usually do when I come . . . my seed shot out, arced up and then fell down to the ground, where it mingled with Logan's spunk.
For a moment, we stood there under the moonlight, getting our breath back . . . coming down from the high of our orgasms.
Eventually, Logan put on his underwear, and I put on my underwear and my shorts.
"I think I can sleep now," Logan said. "You?"
"I'm going to have a beer first."
"Dude, that sounds better than sleep." Logan patted my shoulder, and we made our way into the house.