Urban prey: one stripper to go
Just a quick thought to try to break out of a typing funk.
Hope you enjoy!
...
Just a quick thought to try to break out of a typing funk.
Hope you enjoy!
The money wasn't the greatest, but at least the drinks were free. And, every now and then, if the bar was planning a party, Ethan got paid a flat amount and a nice percent of whatever the bar brought in, beyond a certain margin. If he was really lucky, the party would be themed, and Ethan would get to keep whatever costume they supplied him with. He'd picked up a few nice thongs, jockstraps, and even a swim suit or leather harness or two.
On the other hand, every now and then the bar had a fully dud night, and the best Ethan could do was hope the bartender would entice his company with drinks, or practice making ones that took skill, but didn't get asked for much.
Tonight had no such advantage. The owner was bar-tending, and among the strippers he was known to be conservative with what he gave the strippers on a slow night. So, while the few regulars who had braved the sudden thunderstorm nursed pints of beer, the young cat sat on the bar between them, hoping for a few good tips to be slipped in his colorful thong; a vibrant tie-dye that dragged attention down Ethan's creamy coat down to his crotch, or from behind down to where the colorful fabric vanished between firm, plump cheeks. His whole body teased the two while he savored the single fruity drink not even the bar's owner would refuse a stripper, no matter how dead the bar: his tail would casually sweep over a denim-clad groin, or Ethan would present a particularly tantalizing angle to one of the older men while he sipped. He had one foot between each patron's legs, casually stroking their thighs with passes of his soft, dainty feet.
The door opened quickly, and a handful of men entered hurriedly to escape the rain. Unlike most nondescript patrons, usually portly boars or bears, the group of five were muscular and fit. Between them were five hues of muscle-hugging jeans, different styles of leather jackets, and an assortment of tight or missing shirts. Laughing and joking amongst themselves, one immediately split off while the other four headed upstairs for the billiard tables. The one who split off - a lion beefcake with forearms the sizes of Ethan's thighs and seven or eight years on Ethan's stark nineteen - unerringly made his way to the section of bar the stripper sat on.
Pretending not to notice Ethan, the lion leans in to the lean little cat, filling Ethan's world with the feeling of hot muscles against him, and the smells of spicy cologne, wet fur, and warm leather. A black fishnet shirt was all that stood between Ethan and pure lion brawn. A powerful hand slid on to each of Ethan's thighs and pulled him in towards the lion until their groins mash together. Off his guard, Ethan leans away from the tower of muscles, propping himself up with his arms.
"Can I get a bucket of your stouts, and..." The lion asks the bartender, a hand running up Ethan's leg, then side, until the thumb reaches and begins to rub over one of the pink nubs decorating Ethan's lean pec, "I must be forgetting something....Just can't put my hand...." The lion grins, showing off the gleaming daggers potruding from his jaw, and for the first time fixes his brown eyes on Ethan's bright greens. "Hey there, sexy boy. You like pool?"
"...Um, sure....." Ethan replies, uncertain. Normally, patrons wanted him to make the first move, and start off flirting. Then wanted the young boy, who was somewhere between a third and a half the average age of the bar's average age, to make them feel desired. Only a few liked to make the first move on a stripper, and none were this aggressive about it.
"Great. Then lets make that two buckets, and one of whatever...what's your name, kitten?" The lion asks, glancing at the tiny nipple he was still teasing for a second, then back at Ethan's face.
"Eth-eddie." The cat replies, giving his stage name only after nearly blurting out the real one. The lion gives him a look, then glances back at the bartender.
"So then one of whatever Eddie wants." He finishes, his attention fully on Ethan when the bartender goes off to stick beers and ice in buckets, and pour Ethan the rum and coke he asked for in murmur. "I'm Greg, by the way. Or you can call me 'lover.'" Ethan shyly looks away, earning him a laugh from Greg. "You're cute when you go all nervous like that. C'mon; drinks are here." He pays while he talks, then slips the owner a five and a one in Ethan's thong, to the company of three other dollars. Then he pulls away, lifts the two buckets, and leaves Ethan still speechless where he sat.
"Well; go after him." One of the initial patrons breaks the silence with as lewd a look as possible. "He'll probably tip you better." The other chimes in, grinning widely at though the very idea of the cat going after the lion, and the inevitable pool game with the lion's four friends.
"Uh...." Ethan mutters, then hops down, nearly forgetting both his old drink and the fresh one, before heading up the stairs after Greg.
At the top of the stairs, Greg and his friends were already passing the beers around, one wolf bent over the pool table and taking careful aim. "Eddie!" Greg greets him, putting a massive paw on the small of Ethan's back and ushering him in towards the group. "Everyone, this is Eddie. Eddie; everyone."
After the very general introduction, the rest of them went about introducing themselves with a smile and a handshake. The two wolves were Mike and Chaz, the tiger Bill, and the puma simply was known as 'Taz.'
When they weren't playing pool, Greg and his gang proved to be all too happy to stuff Ethan's thong with cash, dance with him, flirt with him, and exchang feels and gropes with him. By the end of his second drink, though, Ethan was pretty far hammered, and under the impression he had drunk much, much more. And tired; oh was he tired. Greg made fun of him for it, but he just needed to rest, to sit down for a moment.....
The next thing Ethan knew, he was walking with Greg to the door, wearing Greg's jacket. The lion was apologizing to the owner of the bar, saying how he didn't realize how much of a lightweight the cat was, and how....
Wet. Cold. Only for a second, though, and then they were in a nice, comfy pickup truck. Greg's pickup truck; it had to be. It smelled like Greg.... A pile of clothes on Ethan's lap, a little wet after being carried in the rain, proved after an uncoordinated examination and grudging through murky consciousness to be the ones Ethan had gone to the bar in. A hand was on his shoulder, and he could hear Greg's voice cooing to him as the hand led him horizontal and face down towards.... Oh. Ethan hesitated, but at Greg's assurance started to suck the salty, very male tower that jutted up from Greg's crotch to greet him. He spaced out several times while he sucked, his head bobbing from bumps in the road....
The truck stopped, and the absence of the engine's purr roused Ethan back to his task, only Greg pulled him from it. "C'mon. We're here." He informed Ethan, but the cat was still in a drugged haze. Greg smiled to himself, then gathered up the various articles of clothing strewn around; his shirt and jacket, as well as the clothing 'Eddie' had taken off to gogo at the bar, including his shoes and socks. All articles went under one arm without any concern for wrinkling, and Greg used the other to help Ethan walk. At least, he did at first, until he finally just scooped Ethan up and carried him in to the house. He tossed the clothes in the general direction of his couch, but doesn't stop until he reaches his bedroom. There, he lets the roofied cat drop on to the bed and continues disrobing.
Letting his pants topple to the ground, Greg advances on his intended prey. Fishing his hand down the thong, Greg pulls it off of the barely conscious stripper, enjoying the slow removal of the final barrier. That was, however, the only part he saw fit to prolong.
With Ethan naked, Greg flipped the cat on to his back and plunged himself between Ethan's legs. The spined tip of his dick, long prepared by Ethan's messy sucking, was still wet enough to push past Ethan's rings and in to tight, velvety viscera. Ethan stirred a little and made some fussing sounds, but Greg ignored them and went on fucking. He went at his own pace, unconcerned with anything but his own pleasure. He hammered away, losing track of time while buried in the fitful bowels of the slender cat. He finally erupted, and collapsed on Ethan while catching his breath.
Ethan woke up groggy, his head pounding and jaw inexplicably sore. He flinched, and discovered that his ass was sore enough to put his head, jaw and all, to shame, and his hips and legs felt like he spent the night running. He reached a hand down to try to massage away some of the hurt on his ass cheek, and his eyes go wide when he touches fur instead of the loose underwear he picked for sleeping in. Rolling over, he bumps in to a firm mountain of a heat source.
"Morning. That was some night, cutie. I can't believe we got that drunk." A familiar voice from beside him lazily recounts, while a beefy arm curls around Ethan to bring him closer.