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Chapter 3: It's a Living

It's funny, but I used to sleep better when I was covered in soot, had barely a cot for a bed, and zero privacy. I even slept better than I did now when I was on the ship. However, ever since I had landed in New York I had slept horribly most nights.

It wasn't that the bed was uncomfortable or my room unappealing; I just couldn't shake the nightmares that came. They were never anything solid I can write about, either, just flashes of moments and terrifying images of my past. The only constant was Spring Heeled Jack -- he was always in my dreams, like he could hunt me even there. It was a constant reminder that I wasn't safe, especially with Crossbell Industries now in New York. I knew he was closer than he had ever been and that made me worry.

Still, I had things to do. When the sun came up and beamed over my eyes I groaned and tried to hide my head under my pillow, but I knew if I was late to my courier job it would be an hour long lecture about how lazy I was, and how much he hated employing someone from "The Isles" as he often put it.

I got up and used the small wash basin in my room to scrub myself with the cheap soap I kept, making sure to get anywhere I felt I could be particularly foul. It would have to do until I got a proper bath, but I didn't have time for one now. I got dressed in my usual outfit and grabbed my newsie on my way out the door before Fiz and Rut were even awake (I could hear one of them snoring still) and went to work.

New York in the morning is unlike anything I'd seen in my short life. In London we never got the sun like we did here, and I was always amazed at how bright the sky could be, the crispness of the blue above and the white clouds. It was like everything was brighter in this part of the world. Even on a bad windy day when the smoke stacks billowed upwards and over the area it was still never as bad as London.

I exhaled after taking in the view for a moment, watching the billowing cloud of heated air leave my muzzle and nose before setting off at a gentle clip. The shop wasn't far away but I had lingered too long in bed.

I ducked and wove around people, stopping once before a cub bumped into me, turning and twisting with the agility I had worked on as a chimney sweep and then refined in the rigging of the ship. I was passing by a small market street that was particularly crowded this morning. A portly beaver woman was looking at some apples, turning one in her hand when a large beast of a bear bumped into her on accident. The poor woman yelped and, to balance herself, had launched the apple into the air like a bird.

Without even thinking I stepped three long strides forward and removed the cap from my head, holding it out and catching the apple right as it was about to come down onto a gentleman's head. I exhaled a little bit and pulled the hat closer to me, then turned back to the beaver.

"Here you are, ma'am. Not even bruised. You may want to consider joining one of those baseball teams," I said with a natural grin on my face. I had been thinking about Avery a moment ago, about the time we tried to build a raft to sail down river when we were nothing more than skin and bones. I had been smiling.

The beaver, for all the ruckus she had endured, fixed her hat and smiled politely at me, plucking the apple out of my cap. "Why thank you, young man," she said politely and fished out a couple pennies from her purse.

"No-no, it' s not--" I stammered out.

"Nonsense." Her voice had a teasing tone that came off as motherly. She took my hand, turning my palm up and putting the two coins in it. It wasn't a lot of money, but people in this neighborhood didn't have a lot to begin with.

I sighed and put the money in my pocket. "Thank you, ma'am." I tipped my cap to her before moving off once again.

I strolled into the shop just a minute before I had to be there, which I knew because that annoying clock only went off a few moments after I entered Palmer's Pharmacy.

I worked for a pharmacist who was well known in the neighborhood. A cheetah who took his profession seriously and had even donated some medicine when it seemed to suit him. I could see him in the back of the shop. He was standing at a counter with bottles placed haphazardly here and there, a book opened, a mortar and a pestle for grinding, and a scale of some kind. The cheetah was always impeccably dressed in a crisp white shirt and embroidered mahogany vest edged in bronze. His tie looked to shimmer in the sunlight and I wondered, briefly, if it was silk. He had on his nose a pair of spectacles even though he was only ten years my senior. He didn't look old... he looked smart.

"Almost late again," the cheetah said as he poured something into another bottle. "You keep testing my patience, boy, and you're going to find yourself flat on your ass in the alley. Just because you're charming doesn't mean you're irreplaceable."

"Sorry Mr. Palmer," I said to the cheetah, who merely flicked his long tail at me in acknowledgement. I didn't offer a reason why I was almost late -- it wouldn't have done any good and I didn't care what the man thought. He paid me to run errands for him... and other things.

"I swear, boy." The cheetah finally looked up at me with those green eyes of his which, unlike mine, seemed to be almost dull by comparison. They weren't bad but they weren't going to make someone sit down and write poetry about the color. "You're trying to make me fire you."

"Not at all, Mr. Palmer. I apologize for being late."

The cheetah looked right into my own green eyes. "What do I tell you, Simon? When you're early..."

"You're on time," I finished with a sigh. I hated this ritual, but I did it anyway because what was the point of arguing with a man like this?

"And when you're on time..."

"You're late." I said it with that dull, bored voice of mine that was rapidly becoming my regular speaking voice. "I'm sorry, I will leave earlier starting with my next shift."

"You better," the cheetah said with a glare. "I'm doing you a huge favor, you know. Most people wouldn't want to hire someone with your... predilections, if you follow."

I remained silent. Clayton Palmer knew I was a homosexual and I knew it bothered him on some level, but something always kept him from judging me overly. I had an idea why but I dare not say it to his face. He was also a homosexual. He had just lied to get by in the world and was fine with that lie. I didn't care one way or another -- we all did things to survive.

Palmer put his pen down on his ledger and then motioned me to the front door. I knew the routine, walking over and locking the door while also putting up the sign saying "Closed" on the window. I walked back over to the cheetah who had put his spectacles down on the desk and looked at me with appraising eyes.

"You look thinner than normal," he commented, reaching out and taking my cap off my head and throwing it casually to the floor. "If you get sickly-looking, I won't have you working for me, boy. Are you eating?"

"Yes, Mr. Palmer," I answered with a half dead tone while I remained standing. The cheetah was wasting no time, pushing his hands over to my suspenders and shoving them down off my shoulders. He quickly brought his hands up and started unbuttoning my shirt, getting it open within record breaking seconds.

I always flushed when this happened. Palmer was clearly attracted to me, and I liked the way he acted. Honestly, if he didn't have such a sour attitude, I wouldn't mind him nearly as much as I did. He was fun in moments like these but any other time he was a pain in my neck.

"Good." He pulled my shirt down my arms and threw it to the floor as well. "You do well today and I'll give you some extra money for some decent food. I f my wife saw you without your shirt on, she'd say you could do with a few more pounds."

All at once, with those yellow and white hands roaming my chest, my pectorals and abs, I was instantly awoken. This happened when I had sex -- I felt like life had surged back into me. It didn't matter who, or what, I was doing. Coupling like this was when I felt alive. I moaned a little as he found my nipples and then dropped his hands down, grabbing my waist and making quick work of my trousers. He shoved them down, and my underthings, in one fell swoop. And just like that I was standing there naked in his shop.

I was cold, only for a moment, until his hand found my formed and iron-hard erection. I shivered a little and brought a hand up to rest against his shoulder. The cheetah looked down at me, holding me in a way that was so intimate and familiar. He knew I was his while he had me like this, and honestly I didn't mind it.

"Always erect before I get your pants open," Palmer said with a wry grin, looking up at my face. "You've never gone soft in my presence, boy. I should take it as a compliment I suppose." The cheetah chuckled and leaned in, nipping at my neck and purring loudly, feeling his coarse tongue licking over my sensitive and undefended throat.

I didn't respond to his comment about being hard. It happened, I didn't care. But I was into it now and I wasn't going to pass up this opportunity to feel good. My hands came up, trying to get his clothes off, working with equally expert and deft fingers, his shirt and vest off and pushed down. He yelped a little bit, muttering something about how eager I was, and was starting to pull me toward the stairs that led up to his apartment above the shop.

I followed, stepping out of my pants, and was working at his when we finally got to the base of the stairs. I shoved them down, and shoved him backwards onto the stairs. Grabbing his pants and throwing them behind me in one fell swoop, I moved quickly as the cheetah grunted when he landed on the step.

"Ow!" Palmer growled. "Simon, we really should--"

He was silenced quickly enough. Like me, he was always erect the moment our clothes started coming off, and as much as I didn't like the man's personality, he was handsome. He was flexible and athletic and there were parts of him I liked to imagine were still good, he just buried them behind religious guilt. Still, his protests were silenced when my muzzle engulfed his erection right down to his root.

I heard the cat groan, one hand up and holding onto the bannister, gripping it while one of his long legs extended and rubbed along my side. I had a hand on his balls, kneading them with practiced fingers, knowing generally how much pressure to apply without causing pain but also a lot of stimulation. I rubbed them, my other hand curled around the root of his shaft as I bobbed my head.

Palmer moaned, laying back on the steps like only a cat could, like he was some kind of decadent prince that needed this or he would die. To my credit I knew I was good, and I wasn't about to let him think less of my abilities. I always enjoyed surprising him.

I did not pause my sucking -- why would I? Palmer was someone who would tell me if he wanted me to stop, so I sucked on him like I was trying to draw out his essence. I listened to his sounds of pleasure, the way his hands moved from the stairs to my head, holding my skull between his large hands and lifting his hips eagerly. I could taste the saltiness of his precum on my tongue, feel him throb between my lips, and I knew, if I wanted to, I could bring him over his edge right now. I could drink him down and he would be satisfied, but unhappy. Sometimes I did, but not today. No, I slowed down just enough to let Palmer think clearer.

"Boy," he said through a pant. "Bed. Now."

He pushed my head off his cock and hauled me up to my feet. He took me by the arm and led me upstairs and down the hall to his "study," which was locked with a key. It had a small bed in the corner for when he had his "headaches," but I knew he only ached in certain places.

There were no portraits of his wife and daughter in this room -- I figure he felt guilty having sex with men with images of his marriage on display. I didn't care. Married men wanted my muzzle almost as much as other homosexuals did.

I went to his desk once we were inside and opened the bottom left drawer, pulling out an innocuous clear phial with a cork in it. I rubbed it in my hands for a moment as Palmer went about drawing the curtains and locking the door. He turned to me, still dripping his pre and his cock glistening with my saliva.

"If you aren't ready in a few moments I won't stop to let you," Palmer said with a feral, instinctive growl of need. I watched him stare at me and calculate if I could go without preparation. I could, but it would require him being gentle.

Palmer was never gentle.

I pulled the cork out of the bottle and poured the special oil onto my fingers. Reaching behind myself and under my tail, I applied the necessary lubrication that would make this whole process much easier. It was cold but only for a moment.

"You are ready," the cheetah said, greedily grabbing me and shoving me onto the bed, pushing me onto my back and getting on his knees between my legs. I had lifted my ankles but he grabbed them and held them spread. I watched him think and consider something and then grin wickedly.

I was curious what the look was for but soon found out -- he had me pulled back further so my weight was on my shoulders and elbows, my ass more in the air than before. I watched the cheetah actually stand up on the bed and stare down at me, and then kept folding me.

This would be where I would say I stopped it, but I didn't. Palmer knew how flexible I was, and I knew how flexible he was. While we hadn't done... whatever it was the cheetah was planning for now, I was not in pain. Not every man would be so lucky. He kept pushing me, curling me, until my knees were practically on the sides of my head, and now I knew what he was planning.

Standing over me, balls over my head, Palmer plunged into me with the grace of a falling tree, but I didn't care even as the sudden pain lanced through my body. It caused me to moan and actually cry out -- the cheetah was not slender where it counted and he knew it. He enjoyed my initial yelps of pain and discomfort. This time though, he added to it.

While I was crying out, he had his hands on the backs of my thighs, and pushed. I gasped with my eyes closed and muzzle open as my own cock entered my muzzle, and not just the dip. Sure, I had done this position before, but never while having sex. I gasped as I felt the familiar, yet entirely unfamiliar flesh slide into my muzzle and along my tongue.

The cheetah, for his part, kept the pressure there and began to fuck me with reckless abandon. He had his hands on my hips, on my thighs, keeping my cock buried into my own muzzle as he pistoned upwards and downwards into me, sliding his feet a little wider for more stability. I heard him grunt and moan, gasping as the bed started to creek. I did my best to pleasure myself, shivering as the sensations almost overwhelmed me.

"You love this," Palmer said through grunts, a hot moan escaping his lips. I could smell the sweat coming off him now, and myself. It was making the study smell of sex. How his family didn't know what he was doing in here was incredible. "You fucking whore. You would do this all day if you could, huh? Suck my cock, a successful man's cock. You fucking urchin. I'm the best man you're ever going to have sex with. If I was a homosexual I would definitely keep you all to myself."

I almost laughed at the comment, but I would have choked. As it was I was barely able to breathe, sucking down my own pre as the cheetah used his considerably strong legs and hips to fuck me like few men could, or dared to attempt. Most men tired themselves out after a few minutes, but Palmer was always able to fuck me for what felt like hours.

My back hurt, my legs were sore, and I was desperate for a deep breath, but I did not tell him to stop. No, I held on and sucked on myself, making the sounds I knew he wanted to hear since he couldn't watch. I heard him start to purr.

He was close.

But then the cheetah did something I did not expect. While he had never been a... courteous bed mate, easily focused more on his own pleasure than anything else, he knew how the body worked; so when he adjusted the angle of his plowing it hit that sweet spot deep inside me. I felt a wave of pleasure build up like a bomb and it made me squirm; the cat was relentless at his punishment of my body, hitting it over and over again, more times than even I had dared to probe when I was alone and needing physical release.

The squirming below him got Palmer to chuckle and push down just a little harder with his hands, claws out and gripping. He growled deep and low, adding more strength and quicker thrusts right into that pleasure spot deep inside me. I cried out, squirming, trying to get my own cock out of my muzzle -- I had to tell him if he didn't stop this I would finish before him.

It was too late though. Palmer was unwavering in his ability to fuck me, and he did it in a way I wish more men could. I tried to arch my back and grip anything with my hands, fur tingling and ears folding back onto my head as I hit my peak. I cried out around my own cock as my own seed exploded into my muzzle. The familiar, yet different, salty taste assaulted my senses as I drank myself down. I whined and whimpered as I came, clearly identified by the way I had gripped that cock inside me, feeling my balls clench tight against me as I filled my belly with my own seed. It was always a weird feeling to drink your own seed. I hadn't done it in two years. But now I was expecting this position to happen a lot more.

Palmer was not long behind me. I felt the cheetah really thrust hard. If I was a weaker man I would have been in pain, or worried about some kind of injury, but I knew I could handle him. And with two heavy thrusts downwards he exploded into me. I could feel the warm wetness spread through me, filling me, surprised at just how much was being poured into my body. Was his wife not pleasuring him?

I looked up as Palmer arched his back, his tail up and flicking as he came...and then drooped down when his pleasure ebbed into that moment of contentment I longed for every day and every time I had sex.

Palmer did not bask in pleasure for long. No, he quickly pulled out of me with a gasp and shoved me down so I laid flat, finally able to take a deep breath. He looked down at me, his cock dripping his white seed onto the floor. He harrumphed and walked to his desk, picking up two coins and throwing them at me. I watched as they landed between my pectorals. Two gold dollars. I looked up at the cold cheetah who was wiping himself down with a towel.

"Clean up. You get five minutes in the washroom. If you took even a moment longer, I'll dock your pay for wasting my time, Simon. Hurry up, you have a long list of deliveries to make today and I don't want to be open until midnight because you laid about in bed after such depravity."

I sighed and rolled onto my side, watching as the cheetah headed to the office door and unlocked it. "Yes Mr. Palmer, I'll be right down." And not another word was said between us as the cheetah went downstairs to the shop.

I flopped back and sighed, arm draped over my forehead as I thought about the moment. I was, generally, a cuddler by nature but Palmer didn't like to linger after his climax. No, once he had even pulled out early because he was sure he was done, only to give my face a splash of his seed in sudden surprise. From them on he waited until the pleasure ended completely.

Still, I was content myself. Like a pressure valve had been released on me. Not that I was going a long time without sex, but I always felt so good in these moments. I felt a quick pang of fear and looked around. Nope, no ghosts.

I grinned and stood up from the bed, wincing as my backside and rump spiked in a bit of pain. I groaned and rubbed myself. Great. Palmer did this on purpose. Every step was going to remind me of this moment.

I felt myself starting to get hard again and quickly rushed to the washroom. I had no time for this. Not yet, anyway.