The Rat Always Wins
#8 of Reflections on a Rat
The Craigslist ad was a familiar one. It had been a while since I'd heard anything from the rat, but tonight it seemed he was in town and on the prowl again.
The subject line as usual simply read:
Stop. Look. Obey.
I never could resist him. I stopped, and I looked.
The ad asked for a picture, but didn't offer one, simply describing him as late 30s, 6?6?, 550 pounds--absolutely the irresistible rodent mountain I remembered.
I tried to find a good picture to send to him, but I didn't have anything that was both awesome and recent, so I pulled up the camera app and tried a few angles. I didn't feel too photogenic today but I picked a couple out of the batch that seemed decent--one of me from the back, showing off my stripes, and one of me showing off my dick, a solid white shaft in front of a belly full of black fur.
I sent them off and hoped to get a reply. I never could guess, really--sometimes maybe he'd have a better offer, or perhaps feel like playing with someone new. The nights I did get to spend with him, though, were unforgettable.
I waited, but didn't get an answer.
I sighed and sank down on the couch after my boner had faded, watching reruns of 90's sitcoms till I was starting to doze off.
And then my phone rang. He still has my number.
"Hello, skunk."
Rockwell has a voice you could get lost in--it had a sort of accent that I always said sounded Australian, though he insisted it was from London; its cadences deep and gentle and ... compelling.
"Hello, sir." I was full of questions, but somehow I was reluctant to actually voice them. This was Rockwell's call--it was up to him to lead.
"I'm coming to spend the night. Same place as last time?"
"Yes sir, I--"
The line was already dead.
I went up to the bedroom to check on my mates--Darkwater was getting dressed for late-night jobs, but Mattock was already under the covers.
"Matty--you up?" I said, softly enough so as not to wake him if he'd already fallen asleep.
There was some muttered grumbling, so I sat on the bed next to him and rubbed my kangaroo's back a little. "I got distracted a little earlier while pawing, and... I might've answered a personal ad..."
"No. I'm in bed."
"C'mon, I just--"
"No. I get bed. You get couch with stranger."
"It's not a stranger. It's Rocky."
Darkwater slammed his dresser drawer shut. "Oh no it's fucking not."
"What?" I asked.
"Do you not remember how he's mistreated you? How he nearly overwrote your mind for his own pleasure? You're a toy to him--in a bad way--and he doesn't care if he breaks you."
"Otter--"
"I'm not letting him anywhere near you."
The doorbell rang.
My otter stormed past me, down the stairs and to the front door.
I ran after him before he could escalate things, but it was too late.
"You're not welcome here," he said, scowling at the rat in the doorway that was almost double his height.
"I didn't ask you," Rockwell said. "And I'm tired of this little vendetta of yours. You are not my equal. You're not even a challenge. Yet you keep trying. No more."
Darkwater stood his ground, but didn't reply.
At least, that was what it looked like at first. After a moment though it became clear that the otter was under the rat's spell. Rockwell crossed the threshold, grabbed my otter forcefully by the tail, and hoisted him up in the air.
"Remember this when you come back," Rocky said. "You're nothing more than a snack now and a shit later."
In an ideal world I should have rushed to my mate's defense. I was bigger than the otter--albeit probably not much stronger--but I knew Rockwell at least liked me well enough.
If I'd asked him, he might even have let my otter go.
If I'd asked him.
Instead I could do nothing but watch as the rat lowered the struggling otter into his wide-open maw.
The rat's jaws spread obscenely to take in the pudgy little beast that swung his fists but couldn't seem to land a blow on his captor. I could trace the wriggling bulge in the rat's throat; I watched him turn my mate into a squirming lump in his gut and I had no control over my body to stop it.
The rat gave out a fierce, masculine belch as he cleared the air from his stomach. "Now, with that unpleasantness out of the way," he said, turning to me, "I believe you were looking for someone to service?"
A fuzziness overwhelmed my brain, like a magnet was running through it--I had to lean against the couch to keep from falling over. The feeling passed quickly.
"It's good to see you again," I said. It really was. People who spend any amount of time around Rockwell immediately realize how strong of an effect his presence holds. The giant rat made everyone drool over him--his muscular, thickset build offset by his massive paunch; the deep, dark eyes; the voice that embedded itself deep... Rockwell was someone who you could spend an afternoon just daydreaming about.
And I was hard already. Why wouldn't I be? The big rat was looming over me now, and I was near enough to smell his irresistible musk and see the struggles in his gut of whatever poor guy had had the misfortune to be his last meal. That's probably why it took him so long to answer my email. He was picking up dinner.
He stood in front of me and I did what I knew was my duty: opening up the rat's pants and setting his cock and balls free. The very sight of them made me sink to my knees, the better to service the rat and breathe his musk.
I started with his balls, of course. The furry scrotum held a hefty set, but it wasn't the size alone that made them his focal point--it was their overwhelming masculine scent.
I pressed my snout full-on against him and inhaled deeply.
The smell of the rat permeated my experience, clouding my brain and chubbing up my cock even further. This is what a true male smells like. Nothing else could ever come close.
"I fuckin' love you," I said, desperately nuzzling into the rat's crotch, hoping that pure concentrated manliness would rub off on me, would stick with me even after the rat left.
Rockwell made no response, but there was a distressed gurgling from whoever was stewing in his massive gut.
I wanted to service the rat's cock, but that would have to wait--clearly he had needs more pressing.
"Please, sir," I said. "Let me offer you a seat, so you can... take a load off."
The rat smirked, as if it had been his idea. I beckoned to the couch, and laid down on it myself, belly up.
Then Rockwell came around, dropped his pants, and planted his rump squarely on my snout.
With the weight of the rat almost crushing me and certainly cutting off my access to fresh air, I knew I had to work quickly. I pushed my snout upwards, eliciting a deep rumble from the rat as it pushed his hole open. Rockwell felt even heavier as his body slid down a little further, engulfing the whole of my muzzle under his tail.
His filthy hole was my world now. I belonged to Rockwell, serving as his meal or his toilet at his pleasure. And today--
I felt the muscles around my snout contract as the rat started to bear down, and I opened my mouth as best I could, anticipating the meal to come.
It hit me in a rush, all at once. I had been expecting... solid waste, but apparently the rat's digestion was not providing it this time. My muzzle was flooded with filthy, slimy muck with a texture like runny oatmeal. I gagged as it assaulted my maw and nostrils, but the onrush of the filth overwhelmed the pushback of nausea.
I couldn't fight it. I was Rockwell's toilet and I was going to be used, whether I could breathe or not. The inrush of fluid scat went on till I was near the point of passing out from lack of oxygen--all I had was the bitter taste and the filthy stink of the inside of the rat.
When he finally eased up, I found myself hacking and snorting trying to get my breath back, clearing out the accumulated muck in my nostrils and throat that was impossible to swallow.
If I would have been able to pull away for a bit, get some fresh air, I might even have been okay. But I didn't get a reprieve. While I was trying to extricate my poor snout from the rat's hole, he was pushing down harder, his whole weight working to push more of me into his hole. I tried to struggle, but in a battle between the weight of a 550-pound rat and the strength of a 350-pound skunk, well, the rat always wins.
With a squelch my head was drawn fully into the rat's tailtunnel, and I could feel that hole tighten around my neck. My body reacted with an impossible mix between panic and arousal--while my heart was racing and my body flailing, trying to escape the rat, I was also struggling my with what must have been the hardest and leakiest boner I've ever had.
And then the weight of the rat pushing down on me forced my shoulders into him, the big rat's hole stretching wide open to swallow more and more of me.
The panic escalated, in the way that only a panic starved of oxygen can.
And yet I found myself unable to translate that fear into action. I realized that Rockwell was toying with my emotions, controlling them to match whatever his pleasure happened to be today.
Surely that was the only reason that someone covered in shit and shoulder-deep in someone's ass would be jerking himself off so furiously, right?
Rockwell moved his way along the couch, sliding more and more of me into his stretching hole until he'd taken in the last of my tail. I sat curled up in his dark inward places until the lack of air got to me, and a final sleep took over as a last thought played over and over: it's good to be with my master again.
The rat lifted himself off the couch with some effort, being weighed down by the remains of the tubby skunk and otter. He headed towards the stairs and up to the bedroom where Mattock was still trying to sleep.
"Rockwell..." he mumbled, as the rat lumbered in. "Tryin' to sleep."
"This is my home now."
Of course it is, the sleepy kangaroo thought. Why would I have thought otherwise?
"Sorry, babe," he said. "Too sleepy to think straight. Come to bed."
The big rat slipped out of what was left of his clothes and climbed in next to the roo, easily taking up the majority of the bed as he began to sleep off his big meals.
After about half an hour, the otter faded back into existence in the bed beside him, and sat up confused. He got up and got dressed quietly, so as not to disturb the strangers sleeping in the bed.
He knew sometimes he'd hang out and fool around with clients after the work was done. But his memory of the evening was fuzzy for some reason and he didn't want to make it awkward by trying to reintroduce himself.
He went downstairs, got in his truck, and made it through the whole night of work before he realized he couldn't remember where his house was.
I woke up in my own bed, with Rockwell sleeping soundly between me and Mattock. I cuddled up to the rat and thought about how lucky I was to have such a family, with a big roo and a bigger rat to take care of me.
I hoped things would never change.