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The Good Boy

copyright 2020 comidacomida

Mick was an Irish Setter and a lot of his fellow students in college presumed that his common name was a racial slur, but it couldn't have been farther from the truth. Mick's parents had named him Michael-Watches-Over-Him since there were three times during his mom's pregnancy when he technically should have died and yet he didn't; he was their little miracle puppy. Since his highly religious parents had considered it sacrilegious to actually name him after what they decided was their patron angel they had shortened his obvious Green Name to just Mick, and thus it had remained ever since.

He didn't think about it very often since he hadn't spoken with his parents in several years-- ever since he'd graduated from high school. While it had become increasingly 'en vogue' in the more enlightened culturally progressive age for religious families to accept gay children his parents were definitely not hip to acceptance and they refused to have a gay son, even if he WAS a miracle. Then again, Mick wasn't just gay; he was G.A.Y. and openly so. Perhaps that was one reason why they had to take such an adamant stand about him being 'normal' but that meant he took just as much of a stand about pursuing his love interest at the time: a hefty, bearded, salt-and-pepper bear of a Human just a few years his dad's junior named Dale.

Dale was the exact kind of guy that Mick was interested in: he was attentive, encouraging, insightful, helpful, outgoing, and, most of all, controlling. While their meeting in a Burb Dog night club had been happenstance their repeat dates were anything but; Mick was smitten and apparently Dale liked what the Irish Setter had to offer. Even so, it was all Mick could do to get his future Leasher to take the initiative and it wasn't for four more dates until the Human made the move and, ever after, things became so much more physical.

There was something about being dominated by a Human that Mick couldn't get enough of, especially a Human who had skill with a leash and a grip to match. And that Human cock-- Mick would shiver just thinking about it, and the fur on his sheath would chafe in his pants for an entire afternoon any time the prospect of seeing Dale was even a possibility. Things were almost perfect for the Dog... almost.

If there was one objection Mick had it was that Dale wasn't just a great guy, he was also a particularly NICE guy. Despite his thuggish appearance, the thick-built, tall Human was a big softie-- excellent for hugging and snuggling, but he was always just a little too hesitant to give it his all any time Mick was after something rougher. The Dog was a terminal good-boy however, and even though he would often hint at or suggest something a little more impassioned when they got together Dale never really got the hint that what Mick REALLY wanted was to be buggered so hard he would howl and then not walk right again for two days.

It wasn't that the sex wasn't good-- far from it. In fact, Mick had never had better sex than with his full-bodied, big-beard, thick-dicked Leasher... but he still mourned for that little extra something. There was one other trait that the Dog loved about his Human, and that was the eerie amount of thoughtful insight he was capable of exhibiting and that was never clearer than Mick's 21st birthday. They had talked about celebrating it for months ahead of time since Dale owned a bar and it would be the first time Mick would be allowed in there. Dale, in fact, had quite the proposition.

On the appointed night, Adam, one of the bouncers at the bar ushered the Irish Setter in before opening and brought him over to stand at the bar. The Dog looked around the interior, eying the various posters, signs, and neon lights strewn about; despite Dale being almost as gay as Mick himself, the Human didn't really exude the vibe and neither did the bar. In fact, it exuded testosterone and manliness like a football field or race cars or just about any of the other maly things that Mick really never got into. Or smoking, for that matter. Cigars. Big cigars. The kind whose scent would linger in a room-- or a bar, in that case, for hours.

It was a particular trait of Dale; the Human LOVED his cigars... often with a small glass of some kind of high octane alcohol. Proof, Mick reminded himself: high proof. The Dog was not into smoking or alcohol but he made it a point to familiarize himself with his Leasher's likes. He even learned how to pour Dale a drink and the way to prep a cigar just so he could have it ready for when his beloved Human got home. He was, after all, a good boy. Perhaps that was why Dale's proposal for his birthday was so enthralling: he was going to have another chance to be a good boy in the baddest way possible.

Once Adam returned to his post outside the entrance Mick glanced around; just as Dale had suggested, the bar was completely empty. It was about twenty minutes until it opened and the Dog had complete run of the place, which meant that he was able to put their plan into action. Sliding off his stool, Mick crept around to the working side of the bar by crawling underneath a section of drawbridge-like counter top and slipped back to where the bartender usually stood; just as Dale had suggested there was a nook behind the bar, providing the Irish Setter a perfect place to hide.

He pulled his legs in, curling up so that he was completely hidden from view in all directions except head-on, and nobody behind the bar would have a reason to kneel down to see him. Besides, he recalled, only Dale was going to be working on a Tuesday since it was going to be a slow night. Dale would know he was there, of course, and for good reason: although Mick had never really tried having sex in public the thrill had always tickled the back of his mind. Dale, of course, was not really much of an exhibitionist and usually kept all that for the bedroom, but the Human had definitely chosen the perfect birthday gift: Mick LOVED giving head, and the thought of getting his Leasher off at work while he was serving drinks got the Dog hard just thinking about it.

Mick's heart didn't stop beating in his chest once he got into place and the tempo only picked up, especially once he heard the sounds of the staff getting ready to open. A giddy thrill ran through him when Dale's commanding voice told Ronnie to open up. The Dog didn't know who Ronnie was but that hardly mattered; the next phase of the plan would involve Dale walking around behind the bar and then the good stuff could begin. He didn't have to wait long.

The tell-tale scent of cigar smoke hit Mick's nostrils well before the denim jeans covering meaty legs filled his vision. The Setter had told Dale on numerous occasions that he didn't much are for the smoke and the Human was courteous enough to normally keep it at a minimum but Mick knew that Dale almost always started a shift with a cigar and he knew what he was getting himself into. Besides, he reasoned, his nose would be getting plenty of his Leasher's amazing scent the moment he could bury it into Dale's groin; the thought got his tail beating but, more than that, was the sound of a zipper being lowered.

With Dale's waist and legs at the entrance of the cubby the light was dimmed significantly and Mick couldn't see well, but he didn't need to; his target, hard and throbbing was still visible enough and the cock-hound wasn't about to miss his opportunity. With no time wasted, Mick took his Human's shaft right into his muzzle, greedily engulfing the entire thing before greedily going at it with abandon. He hummed softly to himself at Dale's courtesy: the Human had obviously showered before work, which was a very considerate thought. The Dog, however, lamented the lack of his Leasher's amazing body odor; Dale really had an amazing scent and Mick loved it.

There were countless ways that Mick had the opportunity to practice oral sex on his Leasher and he'd made use of them all, but the simple act of going down on Dale while the Human was standing wasn't one of the usual; the Irish Setter would have enjoyed it more if the top of his head wasn't constantly in danger of hitting the underside of the counter over him, but he made due, reveling in every momentary twitch from the Human or the occasional shuddering covert thrust. Dale wasn't much of a thruster when it came to oral and the Dog attributed the sudden shift in style either to the new position or perhaps Dale was more into public sex than he'd first thought.

Transactions went on overhead and, as far as Mick could tell, Dale managed to be a perfect bartender without letting any of the covert action influence his activities. If Mick wasn't such a good boy he would have been tempted to see just how much he could get away with when it came to teasing his Leasher, perhaps using some of the tricks he knew drove Dale wild, but the Dog was too thankful for the opportunity to risk souring his Human to the prospect of future performances and, just when the temptation was just starting to grow too much to bear, he was surprised when a hand slipped under the bar and gripped one of his ears.

Gasping, Mick had to quickly close his muzzle as the Human started thrusting. One... two... and then a shaky shiver and, before the Dog knew it, the inside of his muzzle was being coated in thick spurts of creamy fluid so bitter it was sweet. In heaven, the Irish Setter rode the wave of euphoria he felt every time he completed a (blow) job well done; he quickly caught himself before his tail started wagging against the back of the bar.

Dale's voice spoke up just as Mick was forced to relinquish the spent penis from his muzzle. "So... how was it?"

The Dog was surprised that his Leasher would draw attention to the matter so obviously and delayed before speaking. Another voice spoke up first. "Damn, Dale... you weren't kidding... this little guy is a big time cock hound... loves his work."

Mick almost jumped when a knock came from behind him against the bar. Dale spoke up from the entirely wrong direction. "Come on out, Pup."

The legs in front of him moved back, allowing the Irish Setter to catch a glimpse of orange pubes; Dale did NOT have orange pubes. Confused, Mick slowly crawled out and was helped to his feet by a guy just as big and nearly as old as Dale. The man, who the Dog realized he'd just blown, smiled. "Wow... he's a cutie too."

Looking around, Mick also realized that the bar was completely empty except for Dale, who sat on the other side of the bar with a huge smirk on his face. The Dog's ears drooped. "I... I don't understand..."

Dale winked. "We don't open for another forty minutes, Pup... I wanted to make sure you got your birthday present, and Ronnie here agreed to help out."

Mick glanced toward his Leasher quizzically and the Human responded by reaching out and pulled him over the bar, planting his lips right on the confused Dog's muzzle. A moment later, the Irish Setter felt the familiar weight of his collar being clasped around his neck. Glancing back to the smirking barman, Mick again to Dale. "I... thought I was gonna--"

His Human smiled wider. "Blow me at my bar? You sure are."

Despite the confusion, Mick's tail began picking up speed again as Dale unzipped right in front of him (and Ronnie). The red-head bear behind the bar laughed. "No wonder he likes givin' head... yours doesn't look half bad either, boss."

Dale took a seat again on the stool, legs spread as an invitation to his Burb Dog. Mick accepted it gladly, more than happy enough to get a treat two times in one evening. His Human snuffed his cigar as he spoke over Mick's head. "Sure is, Ronnie... you can look all you want but tasting is just for my good boy here."

Mick WAS a good boy, and he happily accepted his treat.