Unpleasant Developments, Chapter one: Breakfast and Bedlam.
#1 of Unpleasant Developments
Unpleasant Developments Chap. One. Breakfast in bed. The first story by A and J
(Author's note: My current boyfriend (two years!) does speak with a down-south country accent, which I have replicated here. Because it's so adorable. And while you're here, please criticize me honestly. I need to improve:)
Eeenk! Eeenk! Eeenk!
As I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and smote the alarm, I surveyed the little room. On my bed there was a little blue throw pillow, a few mussed up blankets, an 9-inch doggycock, a tall husky named Allan, and my breakfast in bed. Today was off to a faboo start.
"Mornin' shug. I brough'chu some kibbles and my bits."
"What did I do to deserve this?"
"Yew silly. Don'chu know what day it is?"
I thought for a few seconds. June 6th. What's today?
"Happy anniversary, Allan."
"Aw! Yew remembered!"
"How could I forget proposing to you?"
After brekkie, we proceeded, fully nude, down the stairs to the basement love suite. It was a cubic vault of passion, filled with all kinds of glass and silicone exotica. The walls were lined with thick soundproof glass. We're not rapists, gods no; we just mate rather loudly on special occasions and holidays.
"So fer our anney-versary, Ah thought Ah'd do that thing you like."
He laid me out in a love tackle onto a big feathery bed. He dragged his long, thin shaft across my face, prodding my muzzle. As I stuck my tongue out to lap at his glowing red tip, he bonked me on the nose with it.
"Ya know what? Less skip the foreplay."
He moved to the foot of the bed and ran his tongue up, down, and inside my sheath, diddling my floppy member. A tingling, electrical sensation ran through my every nerve. Under this kind of pleasurable torture, it only took me seconds to erect in his muzzle.
"Nnergghh. Oh gods Al, that feels... it's... it is."
Now his tongue glided up and down the skin coating my rod. The foreskin trait was rare in our area, but genetic in my family. I noticed (barely, on account of getting a sheath-rimming) that Allan had been pawing off at triple rate. After a few more minutes, he yelled, bucked madly a few times, doggycock a-quiver, and shot a massive load of nothing. Not a drop spilled out.
"Ner... what... what's wrong, Allan?"
"Jess oudda ammo, Luke. Sorry."
"Nah, it's-mmmffff! *pant* *pant*"
Unexpectedly, he went all the way down, however short that way was, and started lapping my otternuts. *giggle.*
In response, I shot an impressive load of extra thick otterspunk, splattering his throat in creamy goodness. Some leaked out of his mouth, dripping onto the once black blankets. Currently, they were a good shade of gray.
"Gehhh..." I said, or something similarly dazed and confused.
"Now scoot, yew! Yer gonna be late!"
Ten minutes later, I sat fully dressed at our kitchen table, chowing muesli with deep black coffee. Allan came up the stairs fully nude with a five-alarm throbber. It was the same hard-on as before. He walked as casually as you could with your tail tickling your sack and an nine inch pie plower in front of you, and blew a load in my coffee, overfilling it.
"Did you hold back an orgasm for ten minutes, and then blow in my coffee?"
"We were outta half-n-half, thought'chu'd like some cream."
As I walked into my office building, fueled by added-cream coffee, I saw my boss, Ms. Sylvia Blackthorn. The short, sable-furred tabby followed me with her eyes. Those golden eyes could scare anyone out of their fur. I proceeded to my office, and preoccupied myself with notes on a new shipment of girders. But, no matter how I focused, my thoughts would stray towards Allan and his plans for the Bedroom Olympics. After a good twenty minutes, Ms. Blackthorn strolled into my office. She carried four things: an angry tone of voice, regretful eyes, a document, and a new, sickly-sweet smell in the air.
"Hampton, I need you in my office in ten minutes for involuntary sex."
"Sure, Ms. Blackthorn, wait, what?"
"You heard me, and I see your pants tent. Get in my office and get rid of the pants. Or, I fire you."
"Ms. Blackthorn! That's illegal, and besides, you know I'm married! You met Allan at the company potluck last May."
"The law is on my side here, Bub. You better provide, or else..."
With that, she stormed from my office, taking her odd scent with her. I called up Allan.
"'Allo? Allan?"
"Yes? Wha'cha need, luv?"
I went through the whole spiel. At the end, his voice broke.
"*sniff* Ah think yew should. Someone needs to provide fer us, and yew know what happened at the car sales lot."
"Which I apologized for. So, are you sure?"
"Yes. When you get home, we'll do what you want. Oh, that wicked, liddle cat!"
"Alright... bye, Luv."
"Bye, rudderbutt."
That cute little nickname cheered me up. (Otter tails are called "rudders.") But, happy as I was, how could I yiff a female on our anniversary? How could I betray all my gay comrades? How? How!? HOW?!
End of part one. Please comment, and offer all criticisms to me. Again, I need to improve.