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This is a furry adult story containing gay males in sexual situations as well as explicit language and descriptions. No kids are allowed so this story is only for those who are 18/21 or whatever the age is at your legislation. If you are not of the legal age, you shouldn't view this story because you might lose your innocence. Also, by browsing this story you have done so by your own consent and wish to view such material. if you do not wish to view such material you should leave this site immediately.

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Hello y'all and welcome to the latest chapter!

If you have comments, please drop a few lines when you're done. It'll help me to become a better writer. Faves and votes are appreciated.

Have a nice read!

*

I couldn't believe it was Thursday.

My eyes wandered to the clock on the store wall and registered that the ultramodern timepiece read "14:26." That meant over two hours of drudgery before the day was through, and I could slink away to my place and be bored in the safe confines of my home and not at work.

"Do you wish to charge your account or your Visa, ma'am?" words left mechanically from my maw as I tapped the cash register.

"Cash, please."

Tap tap tap.

The LCD screen flashed and accepted me taking the required amount of money from the coyote's bank account. The receipt printer whirled and buzzed. The ripping sound was hardly music to my ears as I tugged the slip of thin paper away and handed it over along with the coyote's credit card.

"Thank you, ma'am," I spoke with my best smile and lifted the heavy, red carrier bag over the counter to deposit the newly purchased books into the woman's awaiting paws.

"Thank you."

"Have a nice day, ma'am."

"Good day."

I wanted to yell "NEXT!" as I watched the coyote pad away with her tail flicking from side to side, probably already planning a wonderful evening with her new romance novels. Maybe she'd have some wine and music and chocolate and generally enjoy herself. Or perhaps she'd read a few pages in bed before sleep while her husband was already dozing away. Or maybe she read secretly at work. I should've tried to sell her some e-books.

I tilted my head from side to side and heard cracks and pops from complaining tendons. I rolled my shoulders and scratched my muzzle to hide a yawn.

Damn Thursday.

Marge chimed a "Good day, welcome to Albrecht Brothers!" to a newly entered otter.

My tail played possum behind me and didn't even cheer up to thoughts of Victor the Dobie's heavy and fleshy and lovely and eatable rump.

Fucking Thursday.

And there's not even fucking.

And I had to go to the bathroom.

It must be the ultimate form of boredom, I decided as I extended my scratch to my ear and wondered if being too tired to go to the toilet was a sign of clinical depression. It was at least a symptom of clinical boredom, that I was sure of, I concluded and decided to set myself a goal of surviving fifteen more minutes without going to the bathroom.

Marge swatted my knee with her thick tail and snuffled.

"Rory Gliese, you're needed on cash register number two, Rory Gliese, you're needed on cash register number two!" she mimicked that strange kind of voice quality you sometimes heard in public announcements.

I gave her my eyes and a little smile.

"Aye, aye, Captain!" I saluted her briefly with my conveniently positioned paw.

"Tenshoon on deck!" Marge giggled and flicked her ears at me.

"Cheers, Starbuck," I flicked my ear at her in return.

Marge's ears made somersaults.

"Starbuck?" the cougar smirked. "Nahh, she's a drunken biatch."

I chuckled at Marge's savvy response.

"Would you prefer to be Number Six?" I suggested.

She sure had the boobs for that, I had to admit. Even the color of her shirt was pretty close.

"Nahhhh," the cougar purred pleasantly, smirking. "I'm more of a Boomer, I think."

I chuckled.

"Isn't she even a bigger biatch than Starbuck?"

"She has a more badass fighter, that's why," the cougar smirked.

I couldn't argue with that, really, and didn't have the opportunity, either. A couple of wolves carrying huge stacks of books were approaching the counter, and that meant busy times for the next...ohhh...I was optimistic and decided that the next ten minutes might pass swiftly.

*

Yeah...a little bit more...

I leaned an elbow against the shower cabinet wall while my paw went up and down on my throbbing, water-slickened erection. The water was hot and contributed to my arousal while I pawed off quick and hard. Suds of Xanthomax shampoo flowed along my arms and dripped off my head furs. My breaths were ragged and punctuated by deep purrs as I pleasured myself with fast, firm strokes. My flesh pulsed and felt even hotter than the water coursing over me. My balls were already itching to blow a hefty load all over my paw.

Just a little bit more...

My tail slapped wetly against the shower wall, making the whole cabinet rattle. Water thrummed in my ears.

I snarled when the first pearly spurt coated my knuckles and mixed with the remains of the shampoo. I sighed deeply and let out a good growl.

*

"Rory, you got lots of plans for the weekend?" Mason asked me when we were unpacking some books before opening time.

I flicked my ears tiredly at the frat wolf.

"If it's Marge asking, I'm going to a retreat of silence to a monastery," I grumbled. "To be alone with my thoughts. No cell phones, no internet, no Facebook, no television, nothing."

The wolf scowled and dropped an MP3 plug in the process. I caught a few chords of heavy metal music and flicked my own ears.

"Uhh, no, dude, I was wondering in general," Mason replied. "She didn't make me ask!"

My tail bounced up and down behind me.

"Ohh, "I rumbled, "uhh...sorry, man."

"It's fine," the wolf snuffled. "You ok, man?"

I scratched my muzzle.

"Yeah, why?"

"You seem to be a bit less Rory lately than usual, I guess," the wolf mimicked my scratch, his tail wagging slowly.

"Oh?"

"Yeah, I mean...I don't know what it is," Mason frowned. "You seemed a bit preoccupied, I guess. Wondered if you had some troubles or stuff."

I smiled at him and flicked an ear.

"Well, thanks for your concern, Mason, but I'm okay," I tried to pull my smile as wide as I could, "Been staying up late during the past couple of weeks, I guess, nothing more exciting than that, I suppose. Lots of stuff to do and not so much time for it."

That meant lots of staying in my tiny flat and trying not to get horny all time from thoughts of Dobie butts and or alternatively my lack of proper social life, my lack of a job that would correspond to my education, my lack of a regular sexual partner or a boyfriend, my co-worker's attempts to mate me with various female friends...I had plenty to pick from.

I wasn't even sure how my encounter with the Dobie exactly related to this feeling I had of late. It's not like I hadn't had one night stands before, or unsuccessful relationships. Hell, maybe I was just getting old, or something. I didn't feel old, but guess that, too, was a mental state rather than just another stage of biological decay.

Whatever it was, the general feeling of blehness persisted.

I put up a brave face for the wolf's sake.

"Talk about it," Mason shook his head. "I've got three term paper deadlines coming in on three courses, and my book presentation on Faulkner and I have to write 5,000 words in Swedish by next Tuesday, and my brain is all messed up with indefinite and definite forms...I can't remember when to use which form and it's a pain."

"Can't your friend Haakon help?" I grinned.

"He's promised to proofread it once I'm done but I don't have too high hopes," the wolf grumbled.

"I'm sure you'll do fine, "I smiled, "I'd help if I could but I'm a bit rusty on North Germanic."

"It's okay," the wolf smiled. "He'll come over tomorrow night."

"That's great," I smiled.

"So, uh...," Mason chuckled, "if Marge asks me if she should ask you to come to the Lefties with her and Goggy and their friends again..."

"I'm definitely busy," I replied. "Retreat of silence, remember?"

"My lips are sealed, "the wolf smiled.

"Thanks, Mason."

*

Lying in bed on a Saturday morning at half past ten might have been a luxury, but it also felt like a waste of good do-nothing time on doing...ugh...nothing.

I stretched my sleep-numbed arms and burrowed my head under a pillow and squeezed my eyes shut.

Maybe I could sleep the whole day...wake up in the afternoon and pretend that I had done all sorts of awesome things during the day, and it all would feel alright.

Perhaps I could go out and grab some lunch outside for once, or sit in a café wearing my beret and reading some really highbrow book. I could sip coffee from a tiny cup that cost ten bucks and breathe in cultured air and carry my tail in a carefully cultured angle.

Or...I could sit home and watch CSI reruns, drink beer and scratch my balls.

My paw wandered down to my groin by instinct and gave those aforementioned balls a nice little scratch that made me purr and slightly heavy-sheathed. I stretched my legs briefly and yawned and snorted and considered a round of masturbation to start the day properly. That reminded me that I had pulled off three orgasms last night while watching "Kane fucks Rob", "Hot Doberman muscledaddy Barry pounds twink ass to submission" and "Japanese daddies get busy on Jacuzzi" on FreeRangeRumps. My balls did feel a bit sore to the touch, too.

I snorted and decided against further self-abuse of my overused gonads and opted for some coffee and corn flakes instead. A few moments later I was propped up on my small kitchen table, enjoying Folger's and a porn-free Internet browse. I yawned and enjoyed the sunlight coming off the small window I really should have washed ages ago. It still managed to find a clean enough a crack on the glass to make a slightly broken stripe across my computer keyboard on my laptop. My paws rested against the table as I stared at the Google frontpage that was my home page and wondered what to do next.

I snuffled to myself and against better judgment I logged in to Facebook. I hadn't visited in a couple of days and was immediately flooded by numerous wall updates coming from everyone on my friends list. On top of it was a photo of Marge held in the arms of a leopard whose head furs were dyed black, in a great contrast to the dirty white apron he wore. I recognized the male as Goggy, a repeating feature in Marge's pictures ever since they'd ended up together some months back. I didn't even want to know how they'd met, but they seemed to be good for now.

I clicked off some random updates and leafed through the list quickly. Something posted last night caught my eye, though, and I browsed back up to read it properly.

Peter Sinclair _ Scream 4 makes you want to scream 4 an end to the franchise. Wonder if this counts as word-by-maw response. Think I'll watch the original tomorrow on DVD. Worth celebrating good serum results too. Yay... _ _ 14 hours ago. Like Comment _ I smiled at the slightly botched wit and clicked the "Like" button without much thinking. That caused a "1 person likes this" text to appear under the posting.

I scratched my chin and wondered about the post again. At least it sounded like Peter was doing fine, which was always a good thing to hear. I had met the cougar back in college and we'd been friends ever since. I realized that we hadn't really been so much in touch lately, for reasons...ugh, guess they were apparent reasons.

I wondered whether he had already started on watching that DVD, and checked the time. It was already eleven o'clock.

I looked at the glowing computer screen again with its Facebook listings, and glanced at the clock, and my cell phone resting on the table. The sunlight highlighted the fur on my paw and made it glow golden.

It's not like I had anything to lose, right?

I picked up the phone and skimmed through the numbers until the name "Peter" became chosen and I clicked the green button. After a couple of beeps, I was answered.

"Rory?" the voice was as low and purring as it had always been.

"Oh, hey, Peter!" I cheered myself up to action. "Good morning, man!"

"Hi, Rory," the voice on the other end of the line answered. "How're you?"

"Ohh, I'm fine, thanks, "I scratched my belly as I leaned back on my chair a little, my tail flicking swoopingly. "How're you?"

There was a brief pause before he spoke again.

"Pretty good," Peter replied. "I think that the professional opinion would be...exceeds expectations."

"That's a good thing to hear," I smiled.

"Thanks, Row-reeh," the purring voice of the cougar coursed through my skull.

My scratching had migrated to the back of my neck now as I spoke again.

"Hey, Peter, I saw you on my wall and I was wondering if you wanted to hang out, maybe," I felt a bit foolish speaking like I did, but I don't know...maybe sometimes even the big lion had to feel shy.

"Ohhh, so you simply weren't suddenly filled with great longing to meet your old pal Peter, but instead you were only urged to contact me when you felt the twinge of guilt in your gut after seeing my pathetic wall update?"

I couldn't help but chuckle once his tirade was over.

"Yeah, something like that," I flicked my ears and smiled.

"Fair enough," the cougar rumbled. "What do you have in mind?"

"Well, uh...if you want someone to watch that movie with, I guess I could come over...or if you'd want to go out..."

Again, a silence met me for a bit longer than I would probably expect in a typical conversation, but then his rumble returned.

"You know I don't like going out so much."

I frowned to myself.

"Oh, uhh..yeah, of course, sorry," I replied quickly. "Yeah, so, that's what I'm suggesting, if you want someone to watch the movie with...unless you already watched it..."

I tugged on my ear briefly, still feeling oddly nervous.

"Nah, I slept late, didn't get around to it yet."

"Ditto," I chuckled.

"So, yeah, I guess if you hurry, you might catch Drew Barrymore's demise," the cougar snuffled on the other side of the phone. "That is, of course, if you're okay to come. You know the drill."

"Yeah, I know," I replied, "And yeah, I think I'm okay with it."

"It'd be...nice if you would come, Rory," the slightly softer voice spoke now on the other end of the line.

"It'd be nice to come over, yes," I replied, smiling.

"So...well, if you want to come, I'll delay the movie a bit and wait for you around...say...quarter past twelve?"

"Yeah, that's fine," I agreed, "maybe half past, if I can't catch the earlier bus."

"Ok, that's cool. Just ring me when you're down on the street and I'll let you in."

"Okay, thanks," I scratched between my ears now.

"Seeyah, Rory."

"Seeyah, Peter," I replied and closed the line.

I sat there for a little while and watched the miniature photo of the cougar on the computer screen before I snuffled and headed for the shower.

*

I emerged from the bus on the familiar street some forty-five minutes later, clad in nice, fresh clothes and with plenty of swing to my tail from good spirits. I smelled of shampoo and felt pretty good with the sunlight, even if it was cold. It was only a couple of minute's walk before I reached the old concrete block of flats and stopped by the door intercom. I searched the directory for "Sinclair" and pressed the adjoining buzzer button.

*kssshhhh*

"Is that you, Rory?"

"Yeah," my voice was smiling, "it's me."

"Come right up."

There was a beep and the door was unlocked, letting me into the dimly lit, surprisingly warm hallway. I took the lift up to fourth floor where Peter lived and soon found myself knocking on the door.

I got an answer after a couple of knocks and the door was opened, revealing the slim cougar standing there, a few feet away, wearing a white T-shirt and some jeans. He was smiling, and that made me smile too.

"Hey," I smiled.

"Good day," Peter replied, leaning against the hallway wall, still smiling. "The bottle's in the old place."

I gave him a quick nod and procured the big white pump bottle from a small shelf near the empty clothes' hangers. I squirted a hefty amount of the stuff onto my paws and rubbed them together, snuffling as the potent smell of alcohol hit my nose strongly. My paws felt cold.

"Don't forget the shoes," Peter reminded me.

"I never forget the shoes," I replied, still rubbing my palms together.

"I know," Peter smirked.

I got out of my winter wears and my shoes and then followed the loopy-tailed cougar into his kitchen, noting the faint scent of chlorine hanging in the air forming a curious subtext to the more dominant smell of coffee coming off the coffeemaker standing on the counter. Two mugs were arranged on the table along with a packet of kitchen wipes and a Tupperware box of biscuits.

"Just sit wherever you like," he replied, flicking his tail towards the table that only had two chairs.

"Thanks," I replied, settling down to a plastic-covered seat I knew by instinct to be reserved for me.

Peter went over to the sink and began to wash his paw under the flow of hot water.

"You look great," he told me over his shoulder.

"You look...radiant!" I chimed up in return.

He looked pretty good I had to admit. His fur was shiny, and his lean frame was as thin as it had ever been back in the old days. Nothing seemed off, but on the other hand, off things rarely showed themselves unless it was too late.

"Aww, thanks!" Peter smirked, smiling that familiar old smile.

"I mean it," I spoke, splaying my no longer freezing paws over the immaculate tabletop.

"Thanks," he replied softly as he finished washing and now dried his paws on the kitchen roll.

I waited patiently for Peter to pour the coffee for us both and for him to settle down before I picked up my mug and took a sip. I purred a little as the liquid warmth filled my muzzle.

"You still have great coffee, too," I smiled.

Peter stirred his own coffee methodologically.

"Thanks."

"You been working a lot lately?"

"Sure," he yawned. "Professor Hartnell sends me his transcription tapes every Monday, and I e-mail the ready product to him next Friday. I finished one of the tapes yesterday."

"I'm glad you're getting work done," I replied, enjoying the lingering aroma of the coffee.

Peter took a quick sip and wiped his lips on a folded Kleenex.

"Pays the bills alright," the cougar mused.

"Don't we all want to pay the bills?" I snuffled and scratched my jaw.

"Fair point," he gave me a boyish smile.

"Yeah," I smirked," so, do you -"

A shrill beeping sound interrupted me and made both of our ears perk. Peter got up from his seat and walked over to the kitchen island and seemed to know the source of the sound for he soon made it disappear.

"Sorry about that," he snuffled.

"It's fine," I replied.

Peter opened the silver-colored fridge and took out a bottle of spring water that he put down to the counter before he pulled open a drawer and pulled the familiar green plastic object.

"Ahh, yeah," I spoke over the rim of my coffee mug, "that time of the day, right?"

"Yep," Peter snorted as he popped open a lid of the green plastic box and rattled it around to drop a pawful of pills into his waiting palm. "You know what they say...pills three times a day keeps the boogieman away, huh?"

He uncorked the bottle of water, popped a few of his pills into his maw and washed them down with a heavy gulp.

*

And with another gruffhanger, it's a goodnight until the next exciting chapter!

If you have comments, please! It'll help me to become a better writer.

Cheers y'all!